


Hanging Out

by cosette141



Category: Leverage
Genre: Bromance, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Eliot Spencer Whump, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Eliot Spencer, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosette141/pseuds/cosette141
Summary: While Eliot and Hardison are on a job in the woods, Eliot gets badly injured. Now with bad guys on their tail, Hardison needs to step up, or they're both as good as dead. Damn, Hardison hated outside. Hardison/Eliot brotherly friendship. Hurt/Comfort. Eliot whump





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!
> 
> This is going to be my first multi-chaptered Leverage fic! I started writing this a year ago and have half of it done. It was getting dusty on my hard drive so I thought why not give myself the push to finish it by posting it on here!
> 
> This is an Eliot/Hardison friendship story, cause you can never have too many stories about our favorite brothers. :D
> 
> I'd love any feedback and I hope you guys like it! Thanks in advance for reading :) next chapter will be posted in a few days!
> 
> ~cosette141

"A job in the woods? Full of bugs and sweat and malaria? Yes, why _shouldn't_ Hardison join Eliot?"

"Hardison."

"No need for a tech guy. On a _recon_ job. But _Hardison_ should obviously join Eliot on this sexy adventure—"

"_Hardison_."

"Oh, Parker had her hand waving all over the place trying to come along but why don't we bring _Hardison_—"

"Hardison!"

Hardison whirled to a stop at the growl from behind him. The only thing standing out from the trees and the dirt surrounding him on all four sides was Eliot, dressed in dark colors and a ski hat pulled over his tied hair.

An incredibly _irritated_ Eliot who'd had to listen to Hardison's one-sided conversation for the better part of forty-five minutes.

"What?" asked Hardison, looking around as if Eliot had spotted something and that's why the hitter growled his name.

"_You!" _exclaimed Eliot. "Yakkin' for an entire fricken hour," he growled, pushing ahead of Hardison and continuing their trek around where their bad guys' hideout supposedly was. "Would ya shut up already?"

Offense burned hotly in Hardison's tone. "Well _excuse me_, it's not as if I go askin' you on a trip to _Best Buy_ or anything."

"Best _what_?"

Hardison slapped a hand over his chest. "A sin. That is a _sin_."

"And I volunteered ya," said Eliot as he hacked through some tall weeds with a rather large knife, "because I thought it might be good for ya." He paused. "An' cause I was not comin' in here with Parker."

Hardison opened his mouth to reply, then shrugged. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Even though she wouldn't have talked half as much as you."

Hardison made a face.

They kept walking, Eliot leading the way and Hardison sulking behind him. It wasn't a few minutes of silence before Hardison broke it. "What are we lookin' for, exactly?"

"A lot of these groups have bases underground," explained Eliot. "The entrances are usually fake rocks or tree stumps. That's what we look for. But they can be pretty damn convincing. Keep an eye out for a metal hinge on the side."

Their client's friend, a photographer, had been taking pictures in this forest a few days earlier after tailing the suspect of an illegal arms dealer. She was shot and severely injured around the same area Eliot and Hardison were walking. The area was searched but they found nothing. The police, without any kind of evidence, and a missing camera to boot, ruled it a possible hunting accident. It didn't help that Rebecca's story and reputation weren't very solid.

A typical job for the Leverage team.

"A _hinge_?" asked Hardison. "Why—who the hell are we even lookin' for?"

Eliot shoved a branch out of his way. "It ain't a hunting misfire, Hardison. That was a warning shot. In the exact place you'd give one. Enough damage to hurt like hell but not enough to kill ya."

The same branch Eliot moved swung back around to an unsuspecting Hardison. It slammed into him and he stumbled backward. Eliot paid no mind and Hardison swatted the twigs away and hurried after the hitter. "How do you tell that from where she got injured?"

"It's a very distinctive injury."

Hardison just shook his head.

"And her camera went missing." added Eliot.

Hardison just shrugged. "People steal things all the time."

"The last thing a hunter cares about is a digital camera."

"I care about digital cameras."

"You ain't a hunter, Hardison."

"Well, I'm a virtual one."

A growl from Eliot made Hardison shut up.

They kept on in silence, Eliot hacking a path for them as they searched. Until…

Eliot stopped walking. Hardison, having been swatting at bugs, walked into his back. Eliot growled low in his chest and Hardison raised his hands in surrender.

"Sorry," he said. "Did we find it?"

Eliot glared at him. "Depends on what ya mean by '_we'_."

A sigh. "Did _you_ find it?"

Eliot bent down and brushed some dirt off the top of the forest floor. And sure enough, a metal trapdoor rested underneath. He looked at Hardison with a _see_? expression.

"How come the police didn't find it?" asked Hardison as Eliot dusted leaves off the door.

"Good question."

Just then, something whizzed past Hardison's shoulder, inches from his cheek. He jerked and squealed, making Eliot jump to his feet.

"Run!" hissed Eliot, grabbing Hardison's arm and yanking him away.

"Wha—what the—?" Hardison stammered, still staring after where the bullet almost hit him. "Was that…?"

"Move!" growled Eliot, pulling him to run faster. "Unless you want them to hit you this time, _move_!"

A short squeak in Hardison's throat preceded his burst in speed.

"Hey!"

"Stop running!"

"Federal agents!"

Hardison hesitated in his run at that but Eliot yanked him harder.

"They're lying, _move_!"

Eliot jerked them to the side, making Hardison almost fly into a tree. But he didn't exactly care what condition he brought Hardison home in as long as he was still breathing.

Eliot threw a look over his shoulder to make a new decision.

But neither Eliot nor Hardison were ready for the ground to crumble below them.

Having been too focused, Eliot wasn't looking at the ground; he was too keen on figuring out how many guys were after them and keeping Hardison in sight. He didn't realize they were heading toward a steep decline in the ground, nor that the dirt was dry and cracked and thin. But the moment his leg faltered his heart shot in his throat and Hardison let out an—impressively high-pitched—scream and they both pitched and fell. Seeing Hardison right in front of him, Eliot's arm shot out and grabbed Hardison's arm in a grip that might very well have broken it.

The ground was steep and gravity was an unfortunate bitch at the moment, pulling them down quick and hard, every slam back into the dirt bruising a new limb. Air was snatched from his lungs and he only managed to think to use his free arm to protect his head. His hand stayed like a vice grip on the hacker's arm. Eliot flipped over one more time, then jammed his foot painfully into the dirt, skidding down the dirt, attempting to slow them or stop them.

And then abruptly, Eliot's leg snagged on something on the ground and a huge weight suddenly crushed the entire limb. He was yanked to a stop, agony exploding in his leg and torso as dozens of bones seemed to shatter at once. Eliot screamed, reflexively releasing Hardison by accident as his vision whited out.

"ELIOT—!"

Hardison's shout tore his eyes back open, and then they widened in horror as he realized what had stopped him—his leg was now caught in a mix of rocks, some must have followed them down long enough to crush his leg, and others beneath him that were practically cemented into the edge of a cliff, where his torso was half hanging off of.

The same cliff, Eliot realized a second too late, that Hardison just slid over.


	2. Chapter 2

Pushing past the agony, Eliot's arm shot out, blindly grasping after Hardison nearly a split second after he fell, and felt his hand close around Hardison's wrist.

The hacker's fall stopped instantly but the shock reverberated through Eliot's body and he groaned through his teeth. He was lying on his stomach, his left leg jammed underneath the rocks. Pain pulsated through his entire body, but was worst in his left leg and his abdomen-definitely broken ribs, there. And lying on them was doing nothing to alleviate the pain or make it easy to breathe.

Eliot blinked his eyes open, his vision darkening at the corners. He took slow, even breaths, trying to force himself to calm down, and ignore the pain. He seemed to after a moment, at least enough to open his eyes again. He steeled himself, then carefully looked down.

Hardison was dangling from his grip, nearly a hundred feet from the roaring ocean. Eliot's vision swayed again and he swallowed hard, shutting his eyes. "H-Hardison," he said with difficulty, his breath shallow. "Are you okay?"

"_Okay_?!" exclaimed Hardison, and Eliot winced at the volume. "No, I'm not _okay_, Eliot! I'm dangling above my own damn _grave_ here!"

"Quiet," growled Eliot, finally able to blink his eyes back open. His vision was beginning to clear again but he didn't look down. He kept his gaze on the dirt beneath his fingers.

"I will not be quiet!" exclaimed Hardison. "Do you even see where I am right now?! What's the hold up, man? Pull me up!"

Eliot's arm was already straining from holding Hardison's weight. "All right! Hang on," he growled, tightening his grip.

"'Hang on?'" repeated Hardison. "You gotta sick sense of humor, man."

Eliot ignored him and tensed his muscles and started to pull Hardison up when pain exploded in his abdomen. He cried out, falling back to the ground, crushing the already-broken ribs again and nearly dropped Hardison for a second time. The air was shoved from his lungs but he managed to keep a grip on the hacker as he desperately tried to gulp in air.

"_What the hell_—you okay, man?" asked Hardison, his voice suddenly panicked. "I mean I know I don't got the best diet ever but… I'm pretty sure you could lift a bear if ya really tried…"

Eliot didn't answer for a second, still trying to simply breathe. His arm was on fire now from holding Hardison's weight.

"Eliot?"

"I…" Eliot coughed weakly, grimacing as the movement jarred his ribs. "Just need a second," he finished shallowly.

"You don't sound right," said Hardison slowly. "What's wrong?"

"Broke some ribs," said Eliot, finally getting enough breath back. He kept his eyes screwed shut though. "And I'm stuck."

"Stuck?!" repeated Hardison. "What do you mean '_stuck'?!_"

"My leg," said Eliot. "It's jammed under some rocks." He left out the _and I think every single bone in it is now dust _part of it. Hardison was panicked enough.

"So you can't pull me up?" asked Hardison tentatively.

Eliot cracked his eyes open. His arm was burning already. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold onto Hardison forever. Maybe he could simply push past the pain in his ribs… Though even he knew that without his legs, every muscle he needed to use to pull Hardison up were surrounded by his ribs. His arm was too tired to do much else already. If anything, he had to at least _attempt_ to push past the agony. He _had_ to.

"All right," he huffed, mentally preparing himself. "I'm gonna try again. Just… hang—gimme a second."

He took another breath, and deciding to try this one slower than the last, he engaged his core and started to pull Hardison back up.

The same white-hot pain flared in his abdomen, like knives cutting straight through him. He groaned through his teeth, but the pain was just too much; it whited out the effort from his muscles and he fell back to the ground with a growl.

Hardison let out a terrified little squeak and Eliot tightened his grip. "I still got ya," he said breathlessly. He panted hard. "But I can't pull you up."

Hardison was deathly silent for a long moment. "You… you mean I'm gonna die out here?"

Eliot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You ain't gonna die, Hardison."

"What do you mean?! Of course I am! You're a tough sonofabitch, I'll give ya that, man, but you ain't the Hulk, dude! You can't hold me here forever!"

Eliot reluctantly agreed. His arm was on _fire_.

"Hold on," said Eliot. "I'm gonna switch arms."

Hardison hesitated. "What?!"

"I won't drop you," said Eliot heavily. "I promise."

"But—"

"But if I _don't_," growled Eliot through his teeth, "I _will_ drop you, Hardison. I can't do this much longer."

A slight pause. Then… "Fine. But know that if you _do_ drop me, I will haunt you for the rest of your damned life."

Eliot did manage to roll his eyes at that one. "Whatever."

Eliot slowly reached down with his free arm, carefully taking hold of Hardison's arm right above where his other arm was now holding it. He grasped it firmly, and ensuring that he wouldn't lose the hold, he released his original grip. Hardison swayed a little from the change, eliciting another surprisingly high-pitched squeal from him, and relief washed through Eliot's arm like water.

"Better?" asked Hardison tentatively.

"Yeah."

They both stayed like that for a moment, and Eliot's mind raced for a way out of this. He suddenly wished he was wearing his comms. At least they could contact Nate. His head perked up. "You got your comms in?" asked Eliot.

"Crap!" breathed Hardison. "No, I don't. Didn't think we'd need 'em. Do you?"

"No."

There went any chance to call for help.

_Call..._

"I still got my phone, though," said Eliot thickly. Trying to ignore the burning in his arm from holding Hardison, Eliot slowly and carefully reached toward his pocket where his phone was. Thankfully it was in the pants leg of his good leg. With difficulty, trying not to move any part of his torso, he yanked it from the material, and slowly pulled it in front of his eyes. Pressing one button, it flashed to light, but Eliot's hope deflated at once.

No bars.

"Dammit." He shoved it back into the pocket of his jeans. "No signal."

"This is why I don't go outside!"

Eliot huffed out a breath. His arm was _killing_ him.

What the hell were they supposed to do now? Without help, he was stuck and Hardison was only a few dozen yards away his damn grave.

What could...

His eyes opened. "Hardison."

"Yeah?"

"If I were to drop you—"

"_Woah_!" exclaimed Hardison, again loud enough to burst Eliot's eardrum. "I don't think I just heard that! You ain't droppin' me, man! Whaddaya want, huh? Money? My computers? Lucille—nah, man! You know me and that van have somethin' special—"

"_Hardison_!" growled Eliot. "Shut up! I'm not droppin' you, all right?"

"That is not what it sounded like a second ago!"

"I _meant_, if you were to… _fall_… what would you land on?"

"Oh, you know, this cushy mattress that's conveniently positioned right beneath me—what do ya _think_ I'm gonna land on?!"

"I _meant_," growled Eliot, briefly shutting his eyes as the agony flared up with sudden intensity. "Is it rocks or water?"

Slight hesitation. Eliot felt Hardison sway slightly as he looked down, and immediately felt the muscles in the hacker's arm tense with panic. "Rocks. Big, pointy, man-killing rocks."

Eliot let out a breath. If it had been water, he considered just dropping Hardison. He'd be able to swim to land and would most likely have been fine. But rocks is another story. A more deadly story.

"Damn."

Eliot switched hands again, Hardison squealed like a mouse again, and Eliot slowly laid himself back down. Only his right leg was broken. His left was relatively fine. If he could use his left leg to kick the rocks away, he might be able to free himself. At least, if he could do that, he could use his left leg as more leverage to pull Hardison up rather than relying on his core.

Again… a lot of this plan was still an _if_.

Without much choice, Eliot started kicking at the rocks that were lying on his right leg. They were a couple feet in diameter and damn heavy. Pushing them was not going to work. He gasped as he accidentally pressed down on it, igniting a fire in his leg.

"You good?" asked Hardison tentatively.

Eliot didn't bother responding. He started kicking at the ground below the rock, trying to make a divot in the dirt with his boot. If he could get the toe of his boot under the rock he could free his leg. He sighed tiredly and started working on it.

A handful of minutes and three more switches of his arm later, he was making true headway on getting his foot under the rock when Hardison spoke up again.

"I have to pee, man."

Eliot growled.

"Nevermind," said Hardison quickly. "I'll hold it. S'fine."

At last, Eliot could fit his boot under the rock. "Finally," he hissed.

"Finally what?" asked Hardison excitedly. "The cavalry's here? The people you ordered with the giant net to catch me arrived?" He paused. "You see a porta-potty?"

"Shut up!" growled Eliot. He was in too much pain to listen to the yakking in his ear.

"Jeez, man, I'm just tryin' ta—"

"If you don't shut up," growled Eliot, "I _will_ drop you."

Crickets chirped.

Honestly, Eliot _hoped_ that he wouldn't drop Hardison. His arm was completely numb. He switched again, surprised that Hardison didn't squeal this time. But even with the switch, his numb arm tingled painfully as feeling returned and his new arm was already straining badly. He wasn't going to last much longer at this.

Eliot started to lever his boot under the rock, and paused before he lifted it. He took a breath, trying to salvage this feeling of dormant agony. With a muttered curse, he lifted the rock.

Eliot screamed.

Only by pure miracle did he still hold onto Hardison. Pain erupted in his leg, burning every nerve inside out. He bit back another cry and kept shoving the rock with his good leg, until it finally tumbled across the ground. It actually tumbled _over_ the cliff, and Hardison let out a shocked cry as it fell inches from his face and plummeted to the ocean.

"Eliot—what—rocks—the hell?!" cried Hardison hysterically.

"Stop—moving—" whispered Eliot in a pained voice, nearly breathless as he desperately tried to hang onto Hardison but the hacker's panic was making him tug on Eliot's grip. "Alec, stop—_please_."

Hardison stilled. "Ar-are you okay, man? What..?"

"I'm not stuck… anymore," said Eliot breathlessly. Pain still coursed through him, burning him from inside out.

"Wait… so that… that big-ass rock was what was…" A pause. "Damn."

"You're… tellin' me," growled Eliot. His arm was killing him. He could feel it about to give out. With an exhausted sigh, Eliot switched arms again. This time the switch was much more staggered. His other arm was already still numb from the last switch. "Agh—damn. Okay… I'mma… pull ya up."

"Yes, please…" Hardison squeaked.

Eliot counted down from three in his head, then brought his good leg up, sliding his knee toward his chest so he could get up. He growled aloud as pain sparked in his ribs. He pressed into the dirt with his knee, trying his best to keep the muscle strain in only his leg. He used the effort to pull Hardison back, praying that his arm wouldn't give out.

Hardison's head and chest were finally visible over the cliff. Eliot used the last of the strength in his core to yank him up the rest of the way, crying out as pain stabbed in his ribs. Hardison used his free hand to scrabble on the ground, finding a rock embedded in the dirt to pull himself the rest of the way up. Eliot didn't let go until Hardison was all the way over the cliff and feet away from the edge.

They both dropped to the ground, breathing heavy. Eliot shut his eyes. His entire body was in agony. His broken leg was on fire. His good leg was smarting with pulled muscles. His core was a pit of knives. He couldn't even feel his arms anymore.

"Oh, my god," said Hardison. "Oh, my god, I'm alive, holy _shit_, I'm _alive_—oh, sweet ground, how I've missed you…"

Breathe in, breathe out. Eliot tried to focus on anything but the pain.

"...and the grass, it's never been so beautiful—Eliot, you saved my freakin' _life_, man! Do you need a kidney? I'll give you mine. All of 'em. Thank—Eliot?"

Eliot blinked his eyes back open.

"Eliot, are you—_holy_—!" cried Hardison. "Your-your _leg_! It's… oh, my god, I'm gonna throw up. Mhmm. Gonna throw up. Sweet baby J, please tell me there be a porta-potty out here somewhere-"

"Hardison, shut up!" growled Eliot half-heartedly. Actually, the hacker's concern suddenly increased his own. How bad off _was_ his leg? It hurt like a mother, that was for sure, but…

Eliot carefully propped his elbows on the ground to lever himself up. The feeling was finally returning his arms but feeling brought pain. He winced. His core protested any movement but he ignored it, and looked down at his leg.

Suddenly he wished he hadn't.

His leg was lying in a terrible wrong angle. Just seeing it made the pain triple. He grimaced. Pain laced all the way down to his toes, but that was good. Pain meant feeling and feeling meant that nerves were still intact. It meant that he would heal. Though, even though he most likely would heal, it wouldn't be any time soon.

_Damn_.

Eliot flicked his eyes to Hardison, who was gagging and obviously trying not to throw up.

"Just pretend it's normal," said Eliot quietly to the hacker, his own voice still tight with pain.

Hardison stopped gagging and leveled him with his trademark _are-you-crazy?!_ expression. "What?! It is most certainly _not _normal! Not even those freaky little acrobats can do—oh, my god, I'm gonna be sick—"

"You gotta pretend it's normal so you _won't _be sick," Eliot explained. "Trust me. Been in too many situations that I had to pretend were okay to get through 'em."

After a few deep breaths, Hardison seemed to calm down. Eliot watched him with slight irritation; _he_ was the one with a million broken bones. If anyone deserved to freak out it'd be him.

Without looking at Eliot, Hardison asked, "W-What do you want to do?"

Eliot sighed. He didn't want to think about that. Because every one of his plans involved _moving_. And right now, the ground seemed like a very attractive place to be. "We gotta get out of here," he said reluctantly. "Those idiots probably haven't given up yet and we gotta contact Nate and the others."

"Oh, right!" Hardison pulled out his own phone, but dropped his hand in disappointment. He looked around a little. "We have to move closer to a tower for any kind of reception." He snuck half a look back at Eliot, and it was clear he was trying to only look at Eliot's face. "Want me to help you up?"

Eliot took a breath. "No," he said. "Not yet. First… we gotta splint my leg."

Hardison's eyes got wide "W-Wait a second… whadaya mean by _we_?"

Half-wondering if he was going to regret this, he said, "Well, I can't do it on my own."

Hardison nodded. "Okay, okay, I gotchu, man. I gotchu. You saved my friggen life back there, I can save yours."

"I ain't dyin'."

"Not if I can help it, you're not."

Despite the pain, Eliot rolled his eyes.

"I need you to get somethin' that resembles a two-by-four." Eliot told him. But at his blank expression Eliot deadpanned, "A straight piece of wood."

Hardison nodded in affirmation and got up, and Eliot laid back on the ground with a heavy, exasperated sigh.

Hardison was back within minutes and Eliot pulled himself back up on his elbows. Hardison had pried a long piece of bark off a tree. It looked sturdy enough. And it was roughly the length of his leg.

Eliot nodded. "Good. Now some kind of string; somethin' to tie with. Like shoelaces or a piece of material."

Hardison looked down at his own high-tops. "Luckily these shoelaces ain't doin' anything. They just for show." He started untying them.

"You can take the one from my right boot," said Eliot. "_As long as_ you _do not_ move my leg."

Hardison paused in his own untying. "Okay, that's a lot of pressure to put on a guy."

"Yeah, and makin' sure you didn't fall off a cliff wasn't?"

"... So you said your right boot?"

After a good while of untying, three shoelaces were lying on the grass. To Hardison's credit, he only jostled Eliot's leg once, and it hadn't caused him much more than a grimace. The pain was still a steady stream. But Eliot was trying to appreciate it. Splinting it was going to be much, much worse.

"I got three, need more?" asked Hardison.

"Yeah," Eliot said. He looked around, then back at Hardison. "How attached are ya to that sweater ya got on?"

Hardison looked horrified. "But-but-" He sighed. "Nevermind. You're right. I gotcha." He stripped off the cardigan.

"There's a knife in my left boot," offered Eliot.

Hardison let out a sigh. "Goodbye, old friend." He fished the knife from the heel of Eliot's boot and began cutting the material to shreds. Eventually a pile formed on the ground. Eliot sighed. That would be enough.

"Now what?" asked Hardison.

"The fun part," Eliot said reluctantly. "But first, gimme some of that cloth."

Hardison handed him a wad.

"Good," said Eliot. "Now, I can't bend over. So you have to straighten my leg."

If Hardison could have, he would have gone completely white.

"You gotta lay down the bark on the ground, and straighten my leg over it. Then, tie it in place."

Hardison looked petrified. "But… won't that hurt?"

Eliot's face twitched. "That's what this cloth is for." he said, raising it. "Just… be quick. Moving it slowly won't make it hurt less. Moving it fast won't make it hurt more. Wake me up if I pass out."

Hardison's eyes bugged. "Y-You're… you're gonna pass out?"

"I don't know," answered Eliot honestly. He hoped not. But he was already exhausted and the pain was overwhelming enough as it was. "Might."

Hardison rubbed the back of his neck.

"Okay," said Eliot, slowly lying back down on the ground. He stuffed the cloth into his mouth and bit down. Through the material, he mumbled, "Ready."

For a moment, nothing happened, and Eliot wondered if Hardison was going to chicken out. But just when he was about to yell at him, pain _exploded_ in his leg. _Exploded_. Like someone was trying to set it on fire and pulverize it in a sink disposal. Eliot screamed through the material, thankful he wasn't going to break his teeth. His vision blackened and flickered and he panted heavily, sounds fading in and out.

"...iot? Eliot? Man, I'm—I'm so sorry man, I'm so damn sorry..."

Eliot couldn't reply. He was still breathing hard, the pain so strong and so sharp that something like a whimper escaped him around the cloth in his mouth. He shut his eyes, suddenly hating himself for _whimpering in front of Hardison_, but could hardly care when his leg was _on freakin' fire_.

The next thing he knew, someone was slapping his cheek. He blinked his eyes open, his vision slowly piecing together. Hardison was hovering over him. He visibly relaxed when Eliot opened his eyes.

"Damn, man, you _did_ pass out."

The cloth wasn't in his mouth anymore and the pain had died down a little.

He cleared his throat. "S'it done?"

"Yeah, man," said Hardison shakily. "Done. Tied up and everything. Double knotted everything too."

Eliot slowly pressed up on his elbow, and weakly pulled himself up and was both relieved and annoyed when he felt Hardison's hands at his back, helping him.

The splint looked good. His leg was straight, for the most part. It looked like it was his thigh bone that was broken. His shin still looked intact even though it hurt like hell, which meant it had to at least be badly bruised or cracked. His knee didn't look broken either, but it was too hard to tell. He actually might have gotten lucky with just the one break. He grimaced again as pain laced through the limb. Though, if this was "lucky" he'd hate to see unlucky.

"Thanks," Eliot whispered. He laid back down, grimacing at the pain the movement caused, and shut his eyes briefly. He was exhausted. "Damn. Thank god Parker ain't here."

"Why?" asked Hardison. "You don't want her seein' the all-mighty Eliot Spencer out for the count?"

"No," said Eliot, cracking an eye open. "She'd be pokin' the shit outta me." He shifted, groaning as broken bones ground against each other. "All right. I'mma take a second here. But then… we'll get movin'."

"Yeah, man, you rest," said Hardison with forced positivity.

"Ya did good," said Eliot, cracking his eye open again to level the hacker with a serious gaze.

"Really? Cause it felt to me like I just kicked a puppy."

Eliot's eyes narrowed. "You comparin' me to a puppy?"

"Uh, of course not! You know what I meant…"

Eliot didn't bother to reply.

"Well we don't have to be goin' anywhere any time soon," said Hardison. "No worries. You just rest up. Everything is gonna be just fine."

"_Hey_!"

Both Hardison and Eliot flinched at the voice in the distance. They both recognized it instantly.

One of the men that had been chasing them.

"_I heard someone," _said the voice. "_This way!"_

Eliot groaned.

"Dammit, Hardison."


	3. Chapter 3

"Aw crap…"

"Hardison!"

Hardison turned his panicked gaze back to the hitter, who was glaring at him. "What do we do?"

"We get outta here!" growled Eliot. "_That's_ what we do!"

Hardison shrunk a little under the hitter's glare. "All right, all right! Jeez! Y'know, the attitude ain't helpin' man." He shifted his own gaze back over Eliot, where he'd been doing his best to keep himself from looking. "I know we gotta get outta here but… can we?"

Eliot nodded slowly. "Just… gimme a second." The words themselves seemed to take an immense amount of effort from the man. Hardison's brows crinkled in sympathy. He couldn't imagine how much pain his friend was in.

Eliot looked terrible. Like, the man had looked worse for wear before, but this was another level. This was tossed-into-a-blender-on-full-power kind of level. His clothes were ripped and covered in dirt, but Hardison's weren't much different. They both took a nosedive down the hill. But even though Hardison could feel a few bruises from where he'd been repeatedly re-acquainted with the ground during the fall, and bruises on his wrist from where Eliot had held him, he was in relatively good shape. Eliot, on the other hand, fought a one-on-one with Mother Nature and lost.

Epically.

Hardison had no idea Eliot was this bad off when he had been hanging over the cliff. Eliot didn't say a damned _thing_ about his leg, other than it was stuck. He said he had broken ribs, but Eliot seemed to break his ribs as often as Sophie broke a nail.

Eliot was taking slow, deep breaths through his nose, and seemed like it was all he could do to not scream. When Hardison splinted Eliot's leg-officially the scariest experience he'd ever had-he himself flinched violently when Eliot cried out. It was hardly a scream. It was just so…

_Agonized_.

Seeing Eliot like this—_Eliot freakin' Spencer_—hardly even able to _sit up_ was… terrifying. Nothing had ever taken this man down. He'd always gotten back up. No matter what fight or what enemy. The team would always rely on Eliot and Eliot would be there to protect them. And he'd always make it out with a scratch or less.

But now, with Eliot on the ground and a group of angry bad guys trying to find them… Hardison looked back down at Eliot. There was no way the hitter would be doing any hitting any time soon. And if those bad guys caught up with them…

"Okay," said Hardison, pulling himself up on his knees next to Eliot, suddenly very impatient and very scared. "Rest time over. Let's go, big guy."

Hardison half-expected an irritated glare but Eliot just opened his eyes and nodded. Damn, the man looked tired. Hardison felt another pang in his chest. He knew for sure he'd be cryin' for his nana if his and Eliot's roles were reversed.

"Help me up," said Eliot, and he pushed himself back up on his elbows. Hardison got behind him, lifting him slowly into a sitting position. Eliot's face was tight with pain but he didn't make a sound. Once upright, he swayed a little until Hardison steadied him.

"You good?" asked Hardison quietly.

Eliot only nodded stiffly, his eyes screwed shut and his teeth gritted.

Hardison threw a look over his shoulder at the trees. No more voices and no sign of bad guys. His heart was still hammering in his chest though. They knew these woods better than he and Eliot did.

"Okay," said Hardison, trying to be patient. "How do you want to…?"

Eliot opened his eyes. He drew his good leg up, bending his knee to get his booted foot on the ground. He held his left arm out to Hardison. "Just pull me up. I'll help ya as best I can. But Hardison?"

"Yep?" asked Hardison with a quirked brow in apprehension.

"Don't you dare drop me."

Hardison gave him a real smile. "You didn't drop me, did ya?"

But Eliot didn't smile back. "I weigh a lot more than you, Hardison. Don't drop me."

Hardison's grin faded as they stared at each other. And past all the pain in Eliot's eyes, there was something else, too. Fear. And a damn lot of trust.

Hardison nodded. "I gotchu, man."

Eliot didn't seem entirely convinced but he nodded anyway. He lifted his arm again and Hardison pulled it around his shoulders, securing a grip on Eliot's wrist. He slipped his other arm around Eliot's back. He gave Eliot a look. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

Very slowly, Hardison started to lift him up. Hardison faltered a little; Eliot hadn't been kidding. He _was _heavy. A lot heavier than Hardison thought. But he only fixed determination on his face, tightened his hold on the hitter and used every ounce of strength he had. As he lifted Eliot higher, Eliot used his good leg to help, and it took a bit of the weight off Hardison's shoulders.

By the time Eliot was on his feet he was panting, and Hardison was supporting almost all of his weight.

"You good, man?" asked Hardison, knowing it was a stupid question but not having anything else to say.

"Yeah." Eliot managed. His breathing evened out and he let out a breath.

"Which way?" asked Hardison, again checking their surroundings for bad guys with guns.

Eliot lifted his head and took a sweep of the area. "We came down from the east," he muttered, pointing a finger where the ground inclined. "That only leads back to their base. South leads back to the sea as well."

"So…" said Hardison, squinting as he thought. "West, then?"

Eliot gave him half a glare. "West has you walking back off that cliff, Hardison. We gotta go north. Didn't you go ta college?"

Hardison jutted out his chin. "Hey. We ain't all good with directions, man!"

"This is human survival, Hardison!" chided Eliot. "And _everyone_ knows what a _two-by-four_ is!"

Offended, Hardison flicked a glare at him. "Oh, yeah? Well, everyone knows what _control-alt-delete_ does too, but I can bet your ass that you don't."

Eliot opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it.

Hardison snickered.

"Shut up."

"_I heard 'em down this way!"_

Both Hardison and Eliot whipped their heads up at the voice. It was closer than the last time.

"_The ground's disturbed here. They went west, toward the sea_."

Eliot raised his eyebrows at Hardison. "See?"

Hardison glared at him. "All right, so… north then… and that's… to the left of us?" he asked quietly, panic starting to flood him again.

"Yeah."

Hardison moved right and Eliot moved to his left, and they both stumbled into each other. Eliot cursed under his breath and Hardison winced.

"Dammit, Hardison!" growled Eliot. "Your _other_ left!"

Hardison winced again. "Sorry, man…"

Unable to even limp on his right leg, Eliot was forced to hop every step on his left. His grip on Hardison's shoulders was painfully tight and his face was screwed into a grimace. Their pace was agonizingly slow. They made their way out of the clearing by the cliff and back into the woodland, trees and brush quickly surrounding them.

"What're we headin' for?" asked Hardison.

"Civilization."

"How… far… away is… that?" asked Hardison between pants, his shoulders and back already screaming from holding so much of Eliot's weight. A twig tickled his ear and he swatted at it with his free hand, terrified it was a bug.

"Don't know."

They kept along in silence, every few steps filled with a slight gasp from Eliot as something bumped or shifted his leg. Hardison tightened his grip on the hitter, trying his best to avoid contact with Eliot's leg, even when the uneven ground made it nearly impossible.

But soon, they found a haphazard rhythm, and the effort on both their parts ceased any attempt at words to fill the silence. They walked for hours, until the light started to fade in the sky. And still, the only thing that surrounded them was trees and bush and _green_. They were moving at an agonizingly slow pace, and Hardison couldn't shake the fear that the men chasing them were going to catch up to them that much more quickly. Every few minutes, Eliot would huff "left" or "right" to change their direction a bit. When Hardison asked, Eliot muttered something about not walking in a straight line when people are chasing you in the woods because that makes you much easier to catch. Hardison _also_ wanted to ask how Eliot came up with that response so quickly, but then decided he didn't want to know the answer.

Hardison swatted at a mosquito that buzzed by his ear. "Ugh! I hate this. I hate this so much. Once we get back to the real world I am never leavin' the indoors. Mm-mm. Never."

"Outdoors… 's good… for ya," Eliot huffed out and Hardison looked at him in the faded light. He looked exhausted. And there was a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead. Hardison had noticed the hitter had been getting steadily heavier the past hour or so.

Hardison's brows crinkled in worry. "Uh… you doin' okay, man?"

Hardison expected Eliot's usual, "_I'm fine, dammit, stop asking," _response but was surprised when Eliot instead said, "I could… uh, use a break."

Hardison stopped walking and looked around. "Is here okay?"

Eliot tiredly lifted his head. He pointed a few yards away, where the trees were denser. "There. Harder ta be… seen."

Hardison nodded and helped walk Eliot the last few yards. He stopped and Eliot leaned back against the trunk of a tree, shutting his eyes. Hardison himself collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. His feet were aching, his back was killing him, the heat made his clothes cling to his skin, he was sure he caught malaria a few miles back…

People actually _liked_ being outside?!

After a moment, Hardison looked back up to see Eliot still standing, just leaning against the tree, his leg carefully propped up in front of him.

"Wanna sit?" asked Hardison tentatively, pulling himself up to a sitting position.

Without opening his eyes Eliot shook his head. "If I sit I won't stand back up. This is fine."

Hardison kneaded his brows but nodded anyway, lying back down and closing his eyes. _Finally. Rest. _They stayed like that for a while longer until Eliot told him to get up and start moving again. He wanted to get as much distance between the bad guys as they could. Hardison did not disagree.

They walked until the sun had set and it was nearly too dark to see anything outside of the shine of the full moon. Hardison had gotten his cell phone flashlight out a while ago but Eliot swatted it away, saying something about Hardison being an idiot and giving away their position. Hardison argued that the sound of them walking into a tree would do the same but Eliot never replied.

* * *

Everything hurt.

Every step.

Every breath.

_Everything_.

Eliot hopped another step, carefully avoiding his broken leg making contact with anything on the ground. His arm was so tight around Hardison's shoulders that he was surprised the younger man hadn't complained. Perhaps he'd underestimated the hacker's strength. But Hardison _had_ been filling the past hours with complaints of bugs and malaria, though Eliot had been doing his best to tune the man out.

Normally, a day lost in woodland would be nothing. Eliot loved the outdoors. Lived in them for most of his life. Back during his days in the Service, he'd go months without seeing the inside of a building. He was used to the chill of the air at night, the sticky humidity come day, the insects, the wild game, the silence that stretched on and on forever. This was his zen. He _liked _the outdoors.

Until now.

_Now,_ he'd kill for a couch. And maybe a truckload of ice. Yes, ice. _So much ice._

Sweat was dripping down his back. Every step was a workout, having to compensate for the loss of the use of one leg. Eliot had been hurt before, had broken bones before, several in his legs, in fact, but, with regard to breaking limbs, nothing quite this bad.

The fire still raged beneath his skin, devouring the entire limb. He was thankful for how tightly Hardison tied the splint; if his leg had been still free, he was sure he'd have passed out and begged for death ages ago.

But it was getting dark. Too dark to see much in front of them without the aid of the moon. And Eliot was tired. So, incredibly tired.

"All right," said Eliot finally, and he felt Hardison's shoulders perk slightly, in obvious hope that they were stopping.

"We can stop?" he asked dully, sounding just as tired as Eliot was.

"S'no use walkin' around now," said Eliot, grimacing as he took another unstable step. "An' I need to rest."

"Amen."

At Eliot's direction, Hardison helped him toward another denser area, this one covered by enough brush and tall grass that it would be nearly impossible to spot them in the dark. Hardison helped lower Eliot to the ground, as slowly and carefully as possible. Sitting down was far easier and less painful than standing up, and Eliot leaned back against the trunk of a tree when he was finally down and let loose a long, exasperated sigh.

"You good, man?"

Eliot looked over in Hardison's direction. He could just make out his face in the moonlight. "Yeah," said Eliot, his voice coming out in a whisper. "You?"

"Me?" asked Hardison in surprise. "I am _fine_, only thanks to you. I ain't the one we need to worry about, Humpty."

Eliot lazily rolled his eyes in Hardison's direction. "Any reception yet?"

Hardison already had his cell phone out and was fidgeting with it. "Still too far outta range." he said dejectedly. He shut off the light and slipped it back into his pocket. He shifted on the ground, then let out a high-pitched squeal. "Ugh—oh, god, that—that was sticky and wet—what the hell did I just—nevermind. I don't wanna know." He wiped his hand on the ground and looked incredibly uncomfortable with his surroundings. If Eliot hadn't been in so much pain he might have laughed.

Eliot's eyebrows kneaded, thinking back to Nate. They needed to contact the others. And _soon_. He still had hardly any idea how far away they were from getting out of this damned forest. And moving as slow as they were, they probably made little to no progress. The last thing Eliot wanted to do was drag Hardison down. If those assholes caught up to them… Eliot wasn't sure he would be able to protect him.

"Hardison," said Eliot tiredly, "tomorrow, you go ahead of me, get closer to one of those towers or whatever and—"

"Woah, woah, woah, woah, _woah_—" Hardison said dramatically. "Nu uh. I don't think so."

"I wasn't askin'," growled Eliot. "And we need ta get in contact with Nate. You'll get there faster if you just go ahead without—"

"I ain't leavin' you behind, Eliot! What if our stalkers catch up to ya and…" Hardison hesitated, probably not wanting to offend the hitter or voice his fear or both.

Eliot sighed, glancing back down at where his leg was still burning. "Hardison, I'll be fine. I've been through worse. And I've had to _fight_ through worse."

"No!" exclaimed Hardison. "We ain't splittin' up, man! You should know that! 'Leave no man behind.' Ain't that an army thing? Like… sector pie? Sister tie?"

"Semper Fi," offered Eliot dully.

Hardison snapped his fingers. "Yeah, him! See? You don't leave your brother behind!"

Eliot just stared at him, eyebrows raised in surprise at Hardison's choice of words. _Brother_. Eliot felt the corners of his lips twitch. He then shook himself- "No, Hardison-you don't _get_ it. First chance you get, you gotta take the lead. If they catch up to both of us then…" Eliot swallowed. Feeling like the words were sharp and raw, he reluctantly finished, "I don't know if I can protect you."

Eliot had expected Hardison to sober up, nod and comply but the hacker's response shocked him.

Hardison looked _angry_.

"I don't _care_, man!" hissed Hardison. "Look, if they catch up to us, then they catch up to us. Nice knowin' us. But I ain't leavin' you behind."

"Hardison—"

"You wouldn't do it to me."

Eliot opened his mouth to reply then shut it. Damn kid using his own words against him. Eliot knew with complete certainty if their roles were reversed that he would never leave Hardison. No matter the context of the situation. There was no way he was leaving his teammate, his friend, his _brother_ hurt and unarmed and alone.

Dammit.

Eliot took a breath. "Fine. _Fine_. But if they do catch up, you run. I'll take care of them, and you _run_. You got that?"

Hardison looked at him like he was crazy. "Wait a second—_you'll_ take care of them? Eliot, I moved your leg five inches earlier and you _passed out_. You think you can take on _anyone_ right now?"

Offense burned under Eliot's skin. He might be severely injured but…

He was still Eliot freakin' Spencer.

"You don't get to be who I am by takin' sick days, Hardison," Eliot growled out.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're tough as nails and whatever," said Hardison with a dismissive hand wave. "Look, Eliot. If those goons catch up with us, I'mma help you as best I can."

"Hardison—"

"_Eliot_."

"Hardison!" growled Eliot. "Just… let me, all right?" he asked, this time quieter. And it was less of a demand and more of a… plea. "This is _my_ job."

Hardison leveled him with a look. But then he finally nodded. "Fine."

"Alright, we've gotta take shifts," said Eliot, shifting himself on the ground, wincing as he jostled his leg. "You're up first. I need… sleep." Usually he'd take the first watch but… he was tired. Really tired.

"You mean you're gonna pass out."

Eliot only glared as a response. He laid his head back against the tree and shut his eyes.

And less than a second later, he fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Hardison situated himself carefully on the ground, his left hand still sticky with whatever substance he placed it in—which he was almost certain was just mud but out here in the middle of nowhere who knows—trying to get comfortable. He managed to find a tree trunk across from the one Eliot was leaning against and followed suit, leaning himself up against it. It was a nice enough relief from all the walking they did all day but uncomfortable enough where he wouldn't accidentally fall asleep. By the time he was satisfied with his position he looked over to see Eliot's eyes already shut.

It was a strange sight. Hardison was almost tempted to reach over and poke him, see if the man really was asleep. He'd never really seen Eliot sleep before. Hardison had overheard Eliot once telling Sophie that he only ever got ninety minutes of sleep. And that ninety minutes must occur when the team wasn't around.

He looked… _different_, asleep. Not the seemingly immortal superhero he leads them all to believe he is. Hardison watched him, wondering if his gaze would wake the hitter up, but Eliot just kept sleeping, his chest slowly rising and falling. He didn't look like Eliot Spencer, the hitter, the assassin, the former right hand man of Damien Moreau. He just looked like a normal guy.

Hardison smirked a little. So, behind all the glares and anger and snapping and bickering and under all the punches and kicks and hard, intimidating exterior, Eliot Spencer was just like everybody else.

And, apparently, just as breakable as everybody else, too.

Hardison's brows crinkled as his gaze dropped to Eliot's leg. He could still remember what it looked like before he splinted it. The entire limb was positioned the wrong way. An _impossible_ wrong way, and the hacker was still shocked he managed not to throw up at the sight of it. The entire ordeal, Eliot had probably only shown a fraction of what he was feeling, but even that fraction was enough for Hardison to see this was bad. _Really_ bad. Eliot was seriously hurt and they needed to get out of here yesterday. Hardison knew hardly anything about medicine but he did know that a leg should not look like Eliot's and he was fairly terrified Eliot might have to lose it altogether.

But Eliot didn't look that scared. Not about the leg, at least. He seemed pained, of course, but he seemed okay with it. He did, however, seem to be just as scared as Hardison about this whole lost-in-a-forest-with-a-broken-hitter thing, which Hardison didn't know how to take. Never seeing Eliot sleep before was one thing. Never seeing him quite this injured was another. But never seeing him this scared before?

That was _terrifying_.

It also didn't escape Hardison the fact that Eliot actually seemed to… _trust _him. Regardless of how close he looked to passing out, Eliot still chose to fall asleep in front of Hardison. _Willingly_. For someone like Eliot, that was huge. Hardison, however, had fallen asleep several times in front of the team. Usually on his keyboard after a sugar crash.

Hardison smiled a little. _Eliot trusted him_. After all this time, he gained Eliot's _trust. _He would never admit it to anyone, but that was something Hardison had grown to think he'd never truly achieve. How could you gain the trust of someone who doesn't trust _anyone_?

But with being trusted came a responsibility. A responsibility to take that trust and ensure it was placed in him justifiably.

And Hardison couldn't screw it up.

Someone as emotionally fragile as Eliot putting his trust in Hardison was _huge_. Hardison knew that. Knew it good and well. He was going to cherish that fact and make sure Eliot never, ever regretted it. And as much as the stubborn man tried to pretend he could handle himself in this condition, Hardison wasn't so sure. And he wasn't going to chance it. If the men caught up to them, Hardison wasn't going to leave Eliot to deal with them. Hell nah. He was going to fight the good fight right alongside him.

Something rustled in the distance, sending Hardison's heart into his throat and he barely contained a high-pitched scream.

_I take it back,_ he thought instantly, eyes whipping around the darkness and heart slamming in his chest. _Eliot can take care of this, time to run._

Another rustle, closer this time. Hardison stumbled to his feet, fear paralyzingly him. Something was shifting the leaves and branches of the trees a few feet away.

Hardison glanced toward Eliot, who was still completely out. He thought for half a second to wake him. If this was one of those bad guys, Eliot would want to be woken up. Eliot told Hardison himself, he wanted to take care of them and wanted Hardison to run. If Hardison died, Eliot would be furious with him.

But, said an annoyingly logical voice, what can Eliot even _do_? It would take him too much time and too much pain to get up. He couldn't move quickly. And whoever was in the darkness ahead of them was getting closer by the second. It almost sounded like…

_Footsteps_.

Trying to keep from hyperventilating and simultaneously wishing he was far, far away, safely in his safe house, he briefly shut his eyes and mouthed a short prayer. He then faced the darkness, and with one last, determined look toward a prone Eliot, Hardison quietly walked toward the noise.

This was stupid. This was so, so stupid. He needed a weapon. Hardison felt his sneaker snag on something on the ground and he nearly squealed, but it was only a branch.

Perfect. A weapon.

He snatched it up and held it with shaking hands high over his head.

Another rustle. A bigger one. Directly in front of him.

Crap. This was it. He grasped the branch until his knuckles turned white. He braced himself, his entire body shaking with fear. The figure emerged from the darkness and faced him.

Hardison screamed.

* * *

Eliot woke, startled.

_Hardison_.

A scream had torn him from sleep. It was slightly high pitched and if he didn't know the voice like the back of his hand he would have most likely assumed it was female but it was Hardison for absolute sure.

His heart already slamming in his chest, Eliot scanned the area before him, disoriented. Hardison had been sitting right in front of him when he'd fallen asleep.

And now, the entire area was empty.

"Dammit, Hardison!" Heart beating in a frenzy, Eliot scrambled to get off the ground.

If the men had taken him they couldn't be far. He'd heard that scream; it was near. Very near. But why they'd only take _one _of them was confusing. Eliot ignored the question. Find Hardison first, beat the crap out of whoever took him and _then_ think.

He momentarily forgot about his leg, and instantly tried to use it. The moment he tried to will his muscles to move he had to slap a hand to his mouth to contain a scream.

Fire.

White-hot, blazing, burning _fire_.

He breathed hard.

_Hardison. Hardison needs you. Get up. Get up NOW_.

Forcing himself, Eliot bent his good leg, and pushed himself upward, using the tree at his back as help to guide him up. Pain laced through his core as his broken ribs protested the movement and he gritted his teeth, groaning as pain sliced through him. He stopped halfway, breathing hard and barely keeping himself from falling back down.

How the hell was he supposed to find _and_ save Hardison like this?

_It doesn't matter_, said a voice in the back of his mind. _You have to._

He took another short breath, shoving himself up the rest of the way and finally to his full height. Agony was whiting out nearly every sense. He coughed a cry, his hand clinging to a protruding branch off the tree, holding onto it for dear life. Pain was blurring the edges of his vision and he swayed dangerously.

_Go_, said the voice. _Get to Hardison. Go. NOW._

Eliot blinked his eyes open, taking a few breaths to get himself back under control. He forced himself to hop forward on his good leg, catching himself painfully on another tree. He repeated the slow, unsteady motion as it moved him forward, the fire only burning hotter and hotter in his leg.

Harsh breathing sounded ahead of him.

_Hardison_.

Eliot pushed himself to move faster, finally breaking through the last of the underbrush to where he could make out Hardison's figure in the moonlight. Both relief and apprehension hit him at once. Eliot braced himself, utterly not ready for any kind of fight, and turned to Hardison's attacker. And then...

The fear and the terror all froze at once.

Because unlike what Eliot had been expecting, Hardison was not being held at gunpoint by an assassin. In fact, it wasn't an assassin at all. Not even a thug.

It was a _squirrel_.

A tiny, bushy, harmless little _squirrel_.

He eventually tore his gaze away from the little animal, that had already skittered away, to Hardison, who still looked like he'd just seen a ghost, and was still holding a branch over his head like a club.

Eliot just glared.

Hardison's eyes widened at the sight of Eliot and he lowered the branch and looked between the harmless situation and back to Eliot who was barely holding himself up. "Oh, crap, Eliot—"

"_Hardison_—" growled Eliot, voice laced with anger.

"I know, I know. Dammit, me."

Eliot shut his eyes and knocked his head against the tree.


	5. Chapter 5

Dawn came slowly.

It was Eliot's watch, and he was awake and alert, if not still mildly irritated with Hardison for scaring him hours before. Hardison, who was still asleep on the ground a few feet away, softly snoring. Eliot couldn't hold onto his anger though; Hardison apologized at least two hundred times as he helped walk Eliot back to their makeshift camp and seemed genuinely sorry that he scared him. Not that he'd been scared, of course.

He had been terrified.

Eliot hardly wanted to admit it to himself, but he was eternally grateful that the culprit had only been a tiny animal. Anything more menacing and he… he didn't know if he could have done much.

Which only made it that much more crucial that they find their way out of here and contact Nate before those bastards caught up to them.

Fear picking up, Eliot looked to the sleeping hacker, who was curled up against his backpack like a pillow. "Hardison," said Eliot, but Hardison didn't so much as move, and was too far away for Eliot to reach to shake him awake. Eliot had just gotten the slicing pain in his leg to a tolerable level; he wasn't moving even an _inch_ if he didn't have to. So, instead, Eliot scanned the ground, picked up a pinecone and threw it at the hacker's face.

Hardison spluttered and recoiled. "I'm up, I'm up—what'd I miss?"

"Nothing," said Eliot. "Time to go."

Hardison yawned and stretched, then paused for a second, giving Eliot a cock of his head. "How you doing, man?" he asked quietly, and there was an innocent concern in the younger man's face. Eliot suddenly wondered just how bad he looked.

If he looked as bad as he felt, then he could understand the concern radiating from the hacker. Just thinking about the fire in his leg made it burn hotter. It sliced from his thigh all the way down. Sleep had made him stiff, however, most of the pain lying dormant. Just the thought of having to get up and start their way through this damned place felt like agony all on its own.

"I'll manage," said Eliot after a moment. He knew Hardison wouldn't buy that he was _fine_ but he also didn't want to scare the hacker with how bad he knew it really was.

"So," said Hardison with a quirked brow, and a little more fear in his eyes. "Really bad. Got it."

If Eliot hadn't been trying his hardest to keep himself together, he might have smiled. Hardison knew him well enough after all.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Hardison in a smaller voice.

"Yeah," said Eliot with a slight growl, the pitying look starting to irk him. "You can stop lookin' at me like that."

Hardison winced, seemingly realizing he was wearing his heart on his sleeve. He composed himself badly, morphing his expression into what he must have thought was indifference but really only made it to a weird grimace. His acting was right up there with a theatre performance from Sophie.

A low growl echoed in the air. Eliot raised an eyebrow and Hardison put a hand to his stomach. "Man, I'm starving." He looked hopefully at Eliot. "You got any food on you, man?"

Eliot shook his head. "No. It's okay, though. I'm sure there's something we can find."

"I do have water, though," said Hardison. He reached in his backpack and pulled out half a liter of orange soda. He winced as Eliot made a face. "Okay, it ain't water. But… it'll keep us hydrated, right?"

"Hardly," said Eliot with clear disgust. The bottle was full of liquid sugar. He still couldn't believe Hardison hadn't suffered any medical problems from his diet. The kid needed to discover some real food.

Hardison took a few swigs and then held it out for Eliot. The hitter just stared at it.

"You're not thirsty?" said Hardison with a brow quirked.

Eliot flicked his eyes up to Hardison's. "I'll take my chances."

Hardison looked at him like he was crazy. "You serious?"

Eliot swallowed. The pain was making him nauseous enough as it was, and he wasn't overly thirsty at the moment. He could hold out. There was a chance they could find a stream with real, fresh water. "Yeah. Serious."

Hardison shrugged, putting the bottle back in his bag. "Fine. Have it your way, man."

Eliot cocked his head. "What else you got in there?"

"Not much," said Hardison. "I didn't think I'd need much for this one so I just packed a couple extra cables if I needed 'em. Next time though, I'm throwin' in an emergency beacon, GPS, like six compasses, a small hospital, the works." Hardison slapped his shoulder with half a squeal. "And bug spray. A hella lot of bug spray."

Eliot rolled his eyes.

Not ten minutes later, Hardison had helped Eliot back up to his feet. It was a slower maneuver than the first few times, and it was even harder to keep the journey silent. But soon enough, they were on their way through the woodland again. The sun sparkled through the branches. Everything looked the same.

It had already been bad, but the pain quickly flared up in his leg again and Eliot grimaced, tightening his hold on Hardison. He was sure the hacker would be bruised there by now. Sitting down had done wonders to kill the sharpness of the pain from the day before, but now it was back and meaner than ever.

Great.

Trusting his gut to lead him in the right direction, Eliot gave a few directional commands every now and then, but most of the journey remained silent. Hours passed. Hardison's complaints of the humidity and bugs had died down and their stops for Eliot became more frequent. The pain was just too much, and his ribs were speaking up, much to his irritation. They traipsed through the trees, and Eliot's teeth clenched hard enough to break them. They'd just stopped twenty minutes ago; they needed to keep moving. _But damn did it hurt_. He may be Eliot freakin' Spencer but… Eliot freakin' Spencer could _really_ use a break right about now. A few more feet and he was going to collapse where he stood, and he really didn't want to let onto Hardison just how bad he was feeling.

But luckily—

"Hey, look!" said Hardison excitedly, a much brighter tone than the mumbled complaints of bugs for the past hour.

Blearily, Eliot looked up, squinting through the leaves and branches to find what Hardison did. "What?"

"A tower!" he exclaimed.

Hardison stopped walking and put a hand over his eyes to shield from the direct sun, and Eliot breathed out in relief, trying not to completely sag his weight onto Hardison. _A break. Finally. Damn. _He closed his eyes, fighting to stay standing. Maybe orange soda wasn't the worst idea in the world.

"It's so beautiful," Hardison was saying, and Eliot tuned back in, blinking his eyes open.

"What is?" he said roughly.

"A _tower_," said Hardison, dramatically dragging out the words. He pointed, and Eliot followed the gesture to see a tiny, silver pencil-looking structure that looked at least two or three miles away.

_Miles_…

"The closer we get to that tower," Hardison answered Eliot's unasked question, "the stronger the reception! Once we get close enough we can get in contact with the others! If they have my laptop with them they can even track our-Eliot, are you okay?"

Eliot blinked his eyes open, not realizing he closed them again. He turned his head to see that Hardison had his other arm around him, and that he was very close to collapsing where he stood. "Y-Yeah," he managed, but his body betrayed him and only sank closer to the ground to completely disprove his statement.

"Woah!" said Hardison, quickly catching Eliot, but not being quite strong enough to actually hold him upright. He settled for helping to slow Eliot's descent to the ground, and helped him sit up against the trunk of a tree. Eliot's face pinched white as his leg _screamed_.

"Eliot…" Hardison's voice had a twinge of fear in it now, and it instinctively made Eliot's eyes open. Hardison's innocent gaze was staring back at him, openly worried. "Are you okay? What… what do you need? What can I do?"

Eliot swallowed hard, regretting the words even before they passed over his lips— "Still got that orange crap?"

Hardison's worry shifted to shock, followed quickly by a satisfaction he tried to hide. He nodded without a word and slipped off his bag to get the bottle of the offending liquid out. It was still a quarter-full of the stuff. Eliot stared at it like a child would stare at broccoli.

Hardison looked at it with a critical gaze. "It might be flat by now, but…"

Eliot rolled his eyes. "Yeah, _that's_ what ruined it."

Hardison gave the hitter half a glare but handed him the bottle anyway. Eliot unscrewed it and, with one last look at the _neon orange_ sugar, he drank.

It was just about as bad he was expecting. It was warm and flat and too-sweet, which made his face twinge with disgust, but he drank at least half of what was left, the liquid quenching his thirst well enough. The sugar certainly helped as well, and his eyes opened a fraction wider, feeling the sugar rush hit him almost instantly.

He handed the almost-empty bottle back to Hardison with another look of disgust. "That… is gross."

Hardison stared at it. "Well, it is _now_, now that it's all warm and old."

"Again… _that's_ what ruined it…"

"Hey," said Hardison as he screwed the top back on and put it back in his bag. "I don't see you with anything better."

Eliot didn't have a response for that. _Touché._

"Better?" asked Hardison, with a bit of that concern back in his face.

"Better," Eliot affirmed. "But still feel like shit."

"You still look like shit."

"Thanks."  
Hardison stood up and looked back toward the tower. "How far do you think that is?"

Eliot looked. Guessed, "Two miles? Maybe?"

"All right," said Hardison, rubbing his hands together. "Let's take a few more minutes to rest but then we'll head on over."

Eliot nodded, resting his head against the tree, trying to savor the next few moments of sitting still.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky by the time Eliot really wished for some more orange crap.

A while ago, only after Eliot denied his own share, Hardison finished off the rest of the soda. Sometime earlier they managed to find a handful of berries that Eliot approved of. It wasn't enough to consider a meal but at the very least it shut Hardison's stomach up.

The wind picked up significantly over the past hour and it was quickly followed by the smell of the ocean and toss of waves. In the distance to their left through the trees they could see the ocean itself. Seemed they found their way back to the water.

According to Hardison as of a few minutes ago, they were still too far out of range for cell reception. Eliot tried to stem the disappointment. _He couldn't do this much longer_. And the fear that they were going far too slow was killing him more than the pain.

"You good?" asked Hardison as he had been every so often, throwing a worried look toward the hitter. In his face, Eliot could see the strain his weight was putting on the hacker. _Both physically and mentally_.

And he hated it.

"Yeah," lied Eliot shortly. He knew Hardison didn't believe him, but he didn't voice it. Eliot needed a break—_needed a week in the hospital was what he needed, and he hated hospitals_—but he couldn't afford to slow them down any more than he already has.

"We shouldn't be far now," said Hardison. "We'll get a hold of Nate. And stay the _hell_ away from there," he added, nodding his head toward the ocean.

Eliot inwardly agreed.

They weren't walking a few more minutes when Eliot lifted his head.

The hair on the back of his neck bristled and his blood ran cold.

_Instinct_.

Eliot tugged on Hardison to stop him.

"Why're you—"

"Shh."

Eliot listened carefully, pain-glazed eyes scanning their surroundings with a predator-like gaze.

"Eliot," whispered Hardison with an edge of panic, but before Eliot could shush him again, a branch snapped off to their right.

Eliot's reflexes reacted before he thought to, and he tightened his hold on Hardison and tried to move them away. Too late to stop it, he pressed weight onto his leg, and coughed a yell, half-collapsing onto Hardison.

Hardison barely caught him. "Eliot! What's—" whispered Hardison as Eliot tried to painfully right himself.

Because he had a damn terrifying feeling that that snap of a twig was _not_ a harmless little squirrel.

"Ah," said a voice from between the trees that made Eliot's chest turn to ice. He lifted his head, panting through the pain that overtook his entire body, watching through slitted eyes as one of the men they saw yesterday walked out into the open.

Eliot felt Hardison go rigid.

"Our prey is wounded," the man said with a grin. "This'll be easier than we thought."

Hardison tightened his hold on Eliot-so hard it hurt. He took a step back, but they both ran into something hard and solid behind them.

Something that _laughed_.

Hardison squeaked a little and suddenly the hacker was ripped away from him.

"Hardi—!" gasped Eliot, realizing too late that he no longer had someone to help support his weight.

He crashed to the ground, and _screamed_.

Pain.

Fire.

_Fire_.

_FIRE_.

"ELIOT!" cried Hardison.

He couldn't move. His breathing was harsh and pained, hardly heard over the blood rushing in his ears. It took Eliot what felt like years to crack his eyes open. _Hardison_. He scanned murderous eyes for the hacker, finding him in the grip of a man three times his size. Hardison struggled against the arms pinning him but was clearly outmatched.

With an angry, agonized growl, Eliot tried to force himself off the ground, only for the fire to _explode_.

Hot.

Molten, fire.

His body has become a raging inferno.

He thought he heard himself scream.

"_ELIOT_!"

"Not so tough, are we?" asked the first man, walking to stand in front of Eliot. Eliot blearily glared at him, the man's smugness radiating from him like a bad cologne.

Eliot clamped his mouth shut, simply determined not to scream.

"Glad we caught up with you boys," said the man. "See, we thought the photographer girl got the message when we put her in the hospital." He t'sked. "Apparently not. I'm convinced you aren't the only ones she hired to find us, so I'd like to know how much you know, and who I'm going to have to kill besides the girl and yourselves."

"Go to hell," Eliot hissed through broken breaths.

The man nodded. "Yes, I didn't believe the information would be given too willingly. I'd like to deal with the matter here and now, but unfortunately we're too close to prying ears for me to have such a... _conversation_." He smiled. "Those can get a little… _noisy." _He snapped his fingers and looked to the other man. "Let's get them back to base." He glanced back at Eliot. "I have a feeling you're going to cause me some trouble on the way." He nodded his head toward Eliot's broken leg. "That looks a little painful, and I don't need you attracting attention. Best to make this a quieter trip. Nitey-nite." He grinned again, and reared back his booted foot to aim for Eliot's head.

Eliot felt a rare sort of fear drive a cold line through his body.

He shut his eyes.

Only until…

"ELIOT!"

Eliot looked at Hardison sharply, just in time to see Hardison slam his head backward into the nose of his captor, _hard_.

The man howled in pain, a river of blood instantly pouring from his destroyed nose. Eliot's would-be pride at Hardison remembering something Eliot taught him shattered when he saw what Hardison was planning to do next.

Eliot's eyes shot wide. "Hardison—!" he cried, just as Hardison launched himself forward and tackled the man standing over Eliot.

"_Hardison_!" cried Eliot again, fear, panic, fury overflowing. He blinked through a haze of red and pain to see Hardison throwing the unsuspecting man into the thick trunk of a tree. The man collided with it hard and groaned, falling to his side.

"Eliot! Eliot, oh, my god—" mumbled Hardison, running over to the hitter. He started to grab Eliot around the torso to help him up, causing pain to cut sharply _everywhere_, but Eliot shoved him away.

"Hardison," he growled, every ounce of pain and fury coating his rough growl of the hacker's name. "Get the hell out of here before they get up!"

"No!" Hardison grabbed Eliot again, starting to pull him up. "I'm not leaving you, man!"

A sound half between a groan and a growl ripped from Eliot's chest as Hardison pulled harshly on broken bones. "Alec," he whispered brokenly, unable to control the desperation leaking through. "Put me the hell down and leave me here! Get the hell _outta here_!"

"Eliot, I told you! I will not-"

An arm suddenly wrapped around Hardison's throat, yanking him forcefully away from Eliot.

Eliot's heart caught. "HARDISON!"

The man Hardison had tackled released the hacker forcefully, throwing him hard into a tree as a sort of rough payback. Hardison lost his footing and fell to the ground.

With a wild, animalistic growl, Eliot tried—_again_—to get himself up off the ground. The man was advancing on Hardison, who was still trying to get up himself.

But Eliot's body wouldn't hold his weight. Agony flared hotter than ever, and Eliot fell back down, feeling his eyes burn and fury enrage him because _he couldn't get up_.

Hardison managed to get his feet under him. With a squeak at the proximity of the man advancing on him, Hardison blindly backed away. He suddenly squealed again-louder, this time-and Eliot blearily saw why. And when he did, it chilled him to the bone.

A few rocks broke away from the ground at Hardison's feet; he was standing at the edge of the dropoff.

Eliot stopped breathing.

The man stopped a foot in front of Hardison and Eliot watched, paralyzed, as the man stared at Hardison calculatingly.

Hardison was frozen, panic shining in his wide eyes, as he realized _he had nowhere to run_.

"You know what?" the man said quietly, and Eliot could hear his smile grow in his voice. "We only need one of you."

Eliot's blood froze.

Before Eliot could move, the man lunged at Hardison.

Eliot screamed his name.

The man moved quick, struck Hardison straight in the chest, and shoved him backward over the edge of the cliff.


	6. Chapter 6

Panic stole Hardison's breath as he was shoved backward over the cliff.

He didn't even have the air to scream.

He felt his weight pull him down fast and hard and he shut his eyes, only having enough time to think _I'm going to die_.

Until…

Hardison jerked to a hard stop, pain cutting into his chest. The wind knocked straight out of him and for a few terrifying seconds he couldn't breathe.

His eyes opened hesitantly, only to see the roaring ocean a hundred feet below him.

Without the air to scream, he just stared at it in panic and shock, fear flooding his system.

He whipped his head to see what stopped his fall, and, stunned, he took in the thick protruding root from the side of the cliff which had snagged through the strap of his backpack.

For the second time in two days, he was hanging only by little more than a thread over the ocean.

"Aw, HELL no!" exclaimed Hardison breathlessly. "Nonononono—"

From the looks of it, he only fell about ten or fifteen feet; he didn't fall far. But it was far enough; how the hell was he supposed to get back up?

"You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered in panic. He was still swinging a bit and couldn't shake the fear that either the root or the strap would give out.

He was no rock climber! Even if he _could_ get himself unstuck, rock climbing and jumping off cliffs was _Parker_'s thing, not his.

_Damn_ he hated outside.

Why did Eliot have to—

Hardison froze, a new jolt of fear running through him. "_Eliot_!" He jerked his head around again but couldn't see anything on the land above him.

_Those bastards had Eliot_.

The more he panicked, the more he moved and swung. He squealed, feeling the strap of his bag skid across the root. He froze, shutting his eyes, panic overwhelming him. "Oh, my god, oh, my god, get me _down—_"

He was dangling over a hundred foot fall into deep ocean waters that would pull him under as soon as he hit the surface, steal his breath, drown him in an instant—

His chest heaved so fast he couldn't breathe.

The sick feeling of deja-vu struck hard but _this time he was alone_ and Eliot wasn't here to pull him up and the root couldn't hold him forever and the backpack strap cut so deep into his chest that it made breathing even harder—no, not hard, impossible—he couldn't breathe, he was suffocating, he couldn't—

_Calm down_! screamed an angry voice in his head that sounded a hell of a lot like Eliot.

Hardison stilled, opening his eyes, still hyperventilating a bit.

But he felt the panic thin, like a hole had been punched into an airless room, allowing him to gasp in even the smallest amount of air.

He held desperately onto the sound of Eliot's voice in his head, as it repeated over and over the words, _Calm the hell down, Hardison_!

His breathing slowed, still hiccupping every few breaths. His chest was so tight it hurt, and he wondered if something cracked when the root caught him.

The haze of panic lifted a bit more and he opened his eyes, seeing the water sparkle sunlight off the surface. He gulped a bit, breathing out. "J-Just..." he gasped, "Just gotta pretend it's n-normal," he whispered. He nodded to Eliot's words from yesterday and looked around again. The ocean calmly threw tides under him. He swallowed hard. "Normal," he repeated. "Yeah. 's normal. Hangin'...off a cliff…_again_..." His voice cracked on the last word and he felt panic rise again. "Why the hell didn't Eliot bring Parker instead?!"

Thinking of Eliot just made the panic rise even more and Hardison fought to calm down, hearing Eliot's angry voice in his head again.

Surprisingly, it helped and he shoved the panic back down. Eliot. He needed to save Eliot. But first, he needed to save himself.

_And how the hell am I supposed to do that?!_

Well, first step: calm down.

Check.

He hiccupped another little breath.

_...sort of, check_.

Now what?  
He had to find a way back _up_.

_But how_?

He breathed out again, mind racing for what to do.

_Well… what would Parker do_?

Normally he'd be terrified to try and get inside the girl's head, but at the moment he couldn't think of anyone else's instincts better.

He'd spent enough time with the thief to watch her work, jumping off buildings and climbing from window to window. _What would Parker do right now_?

_She'd be havin' the time of her damn life, that's what_.

Well, Parker always checked her equipment first—her harness. And technically the backpack strap was just that. Luckily Alec Hardison ain't cheap, and this particular bag was made top of the line. Waterproof and tough enough to carry heavy equipment without ripping the material. A normal twenty-dollar bag probably wouldn't have held him.

The root itself looked sturdy enough. It was thick and buried deep into the side of the cliff. He doubted it would give out anytime soon but luck _really_ hadn't been on his side lately so he didn't trust anything. The faster he got to land the better.

The root was between his back and his bag. The bag itself had an across-the-torso strap, so at least he felt fairly secure. Assuming neither the root nor the strap gave out, as long as he kept the root in between him and the strap he should be safe from falling.

He craned his head back, straining his neck to see above him again. To climb back up he had to get out from under the root; he had to get on _top _of the root.

But again..._how_?

At this angle he felt like a turtle lifted off the ground by its shell. His arms couldn't reach up that way, and they dangled uselessly beneath him, only fueling his fear from the lack of control. He stared at the root calculatingly for a moment, wishing he had Nate's brain. But as he stared from the root to the cliff wall, he got an idea.

But this particular idea meant that he had to _move_.

_Not like I have a choice._

Heaving out a heavy breath, he started to move.

Inch by inch he shimmied his weight backward toward the side of the cliff. Each time sent a jolt of fear through him but the root seemed strong.

He moved backward until he felt his sneakers hit the side of the cliff and he managed to find a small divot in the wall of dirt to use as a foothold. He moved back a bit more, to almost sit sideways against the wall.

_Now this was the hard part_.

He could see the maneuver in his head but had no idea if he could pull it off.

Gymnast and adrenaline junkie Parker could probably do it in her sleep.

_But unless he got on top of this root, he'd be hanging here forever_.

Fear crawled up his spine.

_Do it for Eliot_.

Hardison opened his eyes. Eliot needed him. He needed to do this.

Or die trying.

Hardison bent his knees under him, getting his feet against the dirt wall. Right-side-up, he'd look like he was squatting. Slowly, using the dirt wall, he started to walk himself to his left, taking him up. He felt himself rotate, and fear tingled his nerves. His back was now pressed to the side of the root instead of underneath, his chest facing outward. His muscles shook with strain. _Damn he needed to work out_.

He walked his feet up the wall, slowly rotating himself against the root until he was lying on top of it.

As soon as he felt it beneath his back, he breathed out in both relief and apprehension. He was pinned to it thanks to the strap on his backpack, but it was much smaller than the surface area of his back; it felt like he'd roll off at any moment. His balance shivered but he stilled himself, taking the moment to calm himself down, Eliot's voice joining his own in his head, telling him—or in Eliot's case, yelling at him—to calm down.

"Okay," he gasped out. "Okay, I got this... okay." Slowly, Hardison lowered his legs until his lower back was against the root. He needed to sit upright, but to do that, he needed to free himself from the backpack. And that meant…

...no more harness.

If he moved too fast, if he lost his balance, he'd be done for.

Hardison took a moment to pull himself together as much as he could. He swallowed hard, using Eliot as his determination, whispering, "This is for you, man."

Slowly, Hardison raised shaking hands to the strap of his backpack across his chest. With a slight prayer, he shifted it up an inch toward his face. He continued the motion until he reached one arm. Even slower than before, he slipped one arm out of the strap. The moment it was free, he felt instantly vulnerable. The strap was now at his neck, still pinning him down, along with his other arm. Letting out a shaking breath, he used his free arm to lift the strap over his head. The moment it was off he let go of the bag completely, and let it drop. He heard it splash in the waves a few seconds later, the sound sending his heart into a frenzy.

"It's normal," he whispered. "It's all normal. It's all right." His voice shook with the words. He was now lying on top of the root freely, any wrong move able to send him falling right after his bag.

But Eliot needed him and the thought of him sent another spark of determination into his blood, combatting the fear.

Very, _very_, slowly, Hardison walked his feet down the wall, still keeping himself as still as he could lying on the root. As soon as he felt his legs low enough, he slowly crossed them around the root hugging them tight to it. He tightened the muscles in his legs and as quick as possible he used his legs to lift himself upright. Moving fast to avoid losing balance he ended up hitting his face against the dirt wall hard and he instantly clung his arms to it, like a hug.

He breathed out a shaky breath in relief, clinging on, feeling something hot and wet trail down his cheeks. _Tears_. He let them fall, nowhere near letting go of the wall. His legs were wrapped around the root tight enough to hurt. He was instantly reminded of horseback riding—_oh, how he hated horseback riding_. But he hated this more.

God, he's never hated a situation more than this in his whole life. He'd take Parker getting spray cheese stuck in Lucille's carpeting any day.

_Just get him the hell back on solid ground_.

Somehow he found the will to open his eyes. His cheek was pressed against the wall and his fingers still grasped desperately onto loose dirt. One finger snagged on something he and jumped a little, eliciting a squeak, but it wasn't a snake or bug or anything alive. It was a gnarled root. It was a fraction of the size of the one he was sitting on but it was about the size of his hand, and both protruded and sank back into the wall, leaving it almost horseshoe-shaped. But Hardison saw it as something else.

_A foothold_.

He looked up, seeing the ten feet between him and land, and all along the way were a smattering of roots, all shapes and sizes. They seemed close enough together to lead him all the way back up.

He smiled a little through the tears; a beacon of hope shined through.

The smile faded, however, when he realized he'd have to leave this safe place he created for himself.

More panic flooded back into his system and his chest tightened.

He was never a strong climber, and the times he'd tried it at fairs or in high school had been with a harness, and only ten feet off the ground. Not a hundred feet over unforgiving waves that would pull him under in seconds, shove the air from his lungs and drown him in mere minutes-

His chest hurt and he realized he was starting to hyperventilate again.

_HARDISON_, screamed the Eliot-voice in his head. _Calm down! Stop panicking and do it already_!

"All right!" snapped Hardison aloud, his panic turning into irritation. His eyes opened and his breathing slowed. He let out a controlled breath.

Hardison canted his head, looking back up. _All right. No more lookin' down. We just at one of those stupid-ass fairs and I gotta win Parker a stuffed bear. All normal. Totally… normal._

With the hand closest to the first root he noticed, he slowly wrapped his fingers around it, tugging a bit to see if it would hold. It gave nothing as he tugged and his trust in it grew.

There was another one about a foot above his other hand. Carefully, he reached up and felt his fingers graze it. He tested its strength and, satisfied, Hardison grasped it tightly.

Both hands secured to the wall, he sighed heavily.

He had to stand on the root.

The prospect of leaving his safe place shot a line of fear through him but he quickly thought back to Eliot. Eliot needed him.

Eliot had hung onto him last time and never gave up. It was Hardison's turn to hang on for Eliot.

There was no way in _hell_ he was giving up.

With newfound determination, hardison tightened his grips. _Just rock climbin' at the fair. That's it. _Using his arms he started to pull himself up. _A terrifying, un-regulated, life-threatening fair. _He uncurled his legs slowly, using the wall again to walk up his left foot.

Without his legs holding tight to the root his balanced tipped dangerously with the movement.

He tightened his grip on the roots and dug his shoe into the dirt, letting out a cry. Heart in his throat, Hardison walked his left foot up the wall, faster to keep his weight transfer smoother. His arms strained to pull his upper body up.

But finally, he was hovering himself in mid-air, his left foot perched on the root. He looked up again and caught sight of another root close enough to his left hand. _Very_ slowly, he pushed off his left foot, using the root as leverage. He lifted himself just enough to reach the next root and with another silent prayer, he released the first root and grabbed the second.

The moment his hand closed around it, the root ripped free from the wall. Not expecting it, his balance shifted harshly to the left and he slammed himself against the dirt wall with another cry, holding on for dear life.

He waited until his heart stopped hammering in his chest to open his eyes. He breathed out trying not to panic again. More tears fell, mixing with the dirt on his face. "It's okay," he said through uneven breaths.

Carefully, he grabbed the first root again, noticing his hand was shaking hard.

_I can do this_.

Determination tiptoed back in and he looked again for a new root.

There was another near his left hand, and he tentatively reached for it, ensuring to test its strength thoroughly before putting weight on it. This one sturdier, he shifted his weight, lifting himself a little higher. He continued the routine until he was standing his full height on the root.

Now, land didn't seem as far away. He was seven, eight feet away from safety.

He looked down at the root that saved him. He nodded to it. "Thanks, man. I owe ya one." he told it. Then, he lifted one foot to the first root-foothold he used, and stepped off the root.

With both feet and hands off the root below, he felt instantly vulnerable. More vulnerable even than without the backpack harness.

But he could see land.

_He was so close._

"It's just a fair," he told himself, reaching for a new root, testing it, then pulling himself up. "Gotta get," he huffed as he reached higher and pulled himself closer, "the stuffed bear," another root, another step, "for Parker," another, and another.

"Yes," he breathed as he reached a root just underneath the edge of the cliff. Carefully he lifted himself higher until his eyeline reached ground level. "Thank god," he breathed out, reaching a hand up over the side, digging his nails deep into the dirt to keep purchase. He pushed off the last root foothold, and reached his other hand further than his first and dug it into the ground, dragging himself quickly and safely onto the ground.

The moment his chest hit the ground he scrambled to his hands and knees and half-crawled, half-rolled as far from the edge as he could, then collapsed to the ground at least fifty feet away.

A sound like a cry or a groan escaped him and he let out a breath of relief, laughing and crying all at once.

_He did it_.

He was safe.

"Holy... _shit…_" He lay there for a few more moments to catch his breath until his eyes snapped open.

"Eliot!"

He picked himself up from the ground stumbling a bit over shaking limbs. He scanned the area but it was empty.

_They were gone_.

"Eliot!" he yelled, panic resurfacing. Hardison ran toward the trees, but skidded to a stop, scanning the trees all around. He had no idea which way they went or even how long of a head start they had. He felt like he'd been trapped on the side of that cliff for hours but it was probably no more than thirty minutes.

Still plenty of time for those bastards to take Eliot and have a hell of a head start.

Hardison's knees hit the ground. "No," he whispered. The fight played back in his mind and his back smarted with pain, feeling the impact into the tree all over again. More tears fell and he angrily slammed a fist on the ground.

Eliot had needed him.

And he let him down.

Never once had Eliot let _him_ down. Let any of them down, for that matter. If they needed him he was there. That was that.

Hardison played back the fight, hearing the bastard's words repeat in his head.

"_Our prey is wounded."_

"_This'll be easier than we thought_."

Hardison's fist tightened.

"_Unfortunately we're too close to prying ears to get my information from you."_

Hardison's head snapped up.

_Too close to prying ears_.

That meant…

_That meant that they were close to civilization_.

Hardison stood up. In the near distance he could see the tower. _Towers meant people_.

Quickly, Hardison jammed his shaking fingers into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. _And thank god he didn't put it in his backpack._ He shivered a bit, still thinking about the bag splashing a hundred feet into the water that had nearly been _him_.

With his fingers trembling it was hard to press any of the right buttons, bu the screen flashed to life and his eyes darted to the upper corner.

_Two bars_.

"Yes!" breathed Hardison. In an instant he was dialing speed dial #1.

It barely rang before it picked up. "Hardison!" said Nate, and Hardison nearly collapsed with relief. "Where are you two? We've been trying to call you—"

"We've been in _hell_, man!" exclaimed Hardison. "Trudgin' through this damned forest, findin' bad guys' hideouts with the hinge on the side, gettin' fricken _shot at _and then I fell off a cliff—"

"A _what_?"

"—and Eliot's got a busted leg and the bad guys found us and I tried to be all Sanction Pie but I—"

"—Sanction who? Hardison, what are you—"

"—and they took him, man!" Hardison stumbled backward, his back hitting a tree, the words tumbling out of him like water through a broken dam. "Those bastards have Eliot and it's all my fault and I dunno what to do cause I can't even stand up to a teeny little squirrel, let alone—"

"HARDISON!"

Hardison jerked at Nate's roar, and he shut himself up. "What?"

"Slow down!" said Nate exasperatedly. "Eliot—you said something about bad guys. Is Eliot in trouble?"

"Major," said Hardison heavily. "Those guys—they have him."

"Where did they take him? Do you know?"

"_Get them back to base_."

"Yeah," said Hardison shakily. "Back to their HQ. It's a ways away from me now but it took Eliot and me at least an hour or two to even walk to from his truck…" rambled Hardison, fear growing. "They said they was gonna interrogate him and then kill him, Nate!"

"Relax," said Nate, though the man himself sounded anything but relaxed. "We're gonna get him back, Hardison. I just can't have you losing your head right now."

"I lost my head after I was thrown off the second cliff, man!" cried Hardison half-hysterically.

"Hardison, just—wait, _second_ cliff?" said Nate in a perplexed voice. "Nevermind—is there a way we can track you?"

"Oh!" Hardison nearly smacked himself in the face. "Of course—Uh, are you anywhere near Lucille?"

"We're in it now," said Nate, and Hardison stopped himself from correcting _it_ to _her_. At the same time he heard a screech of wheels and blaring horns and immediately knew Parker was driving.

"Do you see the silver laptop?" asked Hardison.

Shifting from Nate's line. "Yes," he said.

"Open it. The password is…" He hesitated, then lowered his voice a little. "Orc god." He could _hear_ Nate rolling his eyes. "Are you in?"

"I'm in."

"Top right corner of the desktop should show a black application with a squiggly line."

"I see it."

"Click it," said Hardison. "I put a tracker on each of our cell phones that works whether they're alive or dead, in range or not. I designed the software myself and haven't set it up to use from my cell phone yet," he muttered in annoyance, "so I can't use my phone to track my or anyone else's location. And I have bars but no internet. Where the hell am I?"

"Ah…" Typing sounded in the background. "Got it. You're… Hardison, you're less than a hundred feet from town. A quarter mile away there's a shopping center."

Hardison gripped his phone so hard he could have shattered it.

They were a quarter mile away from the town.

_A quarter mile away from safety._

Eliot had been a _quarter mile away _from being okay.

"Hardison? Hardison, are you still there?"

It took him a moment to speak.

"I'm still here," he said quietly. But just as he said it, something loud beeped in his ear. He pulled the phone away to look at the screen.

His heart dropped.

_Low battery._

"Dammit," he hissed.

"What's wrong?"

"My battery's dyin'," growled Hardison. "I don't have a lot of time. My portable charger is lying at the bottom of the Atlantic."

He heard Nate swear.

"Look," said Nate. "I have Eliot's location. I'm calling Bonano the second I hang up with you and the cavalry will be there in less than three hours. Go to the shopping center and wait there for us to—"

"Eliot doesn't have three hours!" exclaimed Hardison. "Those guys are gonna question him and then _kill him_, Nate!"

A sigh. "I… I know, Hardison. But they won't kill him without getting the information from him, and this is Eliot we're talking about. He's not going to talk. He can hold out a few hours—"

"Maybe when he's in one piece, he can! But he's in bad shape, man!" Hardison felt tears burn his eyes again. "You didn't see him, Nate. He's hurt bad and they know it and they'll use it against him. Eliot is a tough sonofabitch but he's got limits just like the rest of us! He's already past them!"

Nate was quiet for a while, until, "We'll get there as fast as we can. Go into town, stay safe."

"No!" growled Hardison defiantly. "I can't just—"

The white noise from Nate's line abruptly cut and Hardison pulled his phone back to see the screen black; it had died.

He shut his eyes and knocked his head back on the tree.

_We'll get there as fast as we can_.

Nate knew.

It was in his voice.

He knew that hope was futile. Bonano couldn't get a team there faster than a few hours. And with Eliot already as hurt as he was, those bastards didn't _need_ more than a few hours with him before they didn't need him anymore.

"Eliot, what do I do?" whispered Hardison.

He opened his eyes, looking off toward where he knew the town waited, not a few hundred feet away. That knowledge still hurt to think about. _They'd been so damn close_. If he'd just woken up earlier or held Eliot's weight better or wasn't so damn _weak_ they'd've been faster. They'd be out of here and calling a cab to the nearest hospital. Nate and Bonano would out the bad guys' hideout and everything would be fine.

Just last night, Eliot had put his _trust_ in him.

_How did he let his happen?_

Hardison stared in the direction of his own safety for a moment longer, then looked away. He pushed off the tree, determination twisting his features into narrowed eyes and a set jaw.

He wasn't going into town.

He wasn't saving himself.

_Hell nah_.

He couldn't save Eliot before, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let him down again.

His determination waned, however, as he stared at the identical trees on all three sides, the water at his back. How was he supposed to _find_ Eliot? He had no idea how to find his way back the way he came! He didn't have a GPS or even a damn compass. He _sucked_ at directions. Eliot had even said so.

_How was he supposed to find Eliot without technology_?

But wait…

Hardison raised his head, remembering something Eliot said yesterday, right after saving Hardison from the first cliff:

_Eliot lifted his head and took a sweep of the area. "We came down from the east," he muttered, pointing a finger where the ground inclined. "That only leads back to their base. South leads back to the sea as well."_ The sea…

Hardison looked back toward the cliff, ignoring the fear that jumped into his heart. If he followed the cliff's edge, he'd eventually wind back up at the first place he fell. And from there, Eliot had told him exactly how to get back to their hideout. Once he climbed that hill, _he just had to look for the hinge on the side_.

Despite himself he smiled. This could work. The smile faltered just as quickly however when he remembered that their trek took them an entire half day yesterday and half day today.

He'd never make it in time.

Though…

It had taken them that long because Eliot couldn't move fast. Hardison didn't have to compensate for Eliot's injury this time. If he ran, he could make it in a fraction of the time.

The smile was back.

Without another thought he started running, keeping the sea to his right, though staying at a far distance from it to be safe.

_I'm coming, Eliot_.

_Just hang on_.


	7. Chapter 7

Eliot slowly began to wake.

Pain made itself known before anything else. Eliot sucked in a breath involuntarily. He'd woken in pain before; granted, most of the time he woke he felt some sort of pain, whether it be from a fresh injury or soreness from healing ones.

Unable to help it, a wounded sound escaped his lips. Pain frayed each nerve in his broken leg. It forced his eyes open and screwed them shut in the same instance.

Vaguely, he felt his head throb, though the sensation was lost under the screaming in his leg.

Eliot forced his eyes open again, blurry images forming into recognizable ones. He was staring down at himself. He was seated upright in a chair, his wrists tied tightly to the rusty metal arms of it with rope, his left ankle to the chair leg.

But as his eyes found his right leg, he saw what woke him up.

His broken leg wasn't restrained to the chair like his other; it was still tied to the makeshift splint and laid out straight in front of him.

But there was a hand on his thigh, over one of the breaks in the bone, pressing down.

It wasn't pressing very hard, but it was enough to quadruple the pain. Eliot breathed heavily out through his nose, pain and fury building within him.

"Good," said the man, removing his hand from Eliot's leg. Eliot fought not to show his relief on his face. "You're awake."

Slowly, Eliot lifted his head. The room he was in seemed to be shaking. He blinked a few times. No, it wasn't the room; it was _him_.

_He_ was shaking.

He blinked his eyes back open, trying to focus his gaze on the room. It looked like an underground bunker. A few memories dawned from the past few days—the stuttering thoughts a clear giveaway that he had some sort of a concussion—and he realized he was in the underground base of this job's bad guys. Computer monitors stood on a few tables and the rest of the room was stacked with boxes and crates. As well as—and Eliot had to blink a few times to see it clearly—several local PD uniforms hanging on the back of a chair.

..._interesting_.

Finally, Eliot fixed his gaze on the man in front of him. This man had a cop face if Eliot had ever seen one—though a twisted one, at that. Eliot recognized him instantly; this was the man who'd ambushed him and Hardis—

Eliot's entire being froze to ice.

His eyes darted around the room, but he was alone with the man.

_Hardison_.

Memories from the encounter played in his mind. He remembered Hardison leaning over him, trying to help him up.

"_Put me the hell down and get outta here!"_

"_No, Eliot! I told you! I won't—"_

Eliot remembered Hardison getting tackled, fighting, pushed backward to the edge of the—

Eliot's chest caught.

No.

The world stood still.

_No_.

"Now that you're awake," the man was saying, "I have a few questions to ask you."

Eliot's eyes snapped up. He was suddenly tense, coiled. A long-lost sense of _cold_ slowly began to engulf him, a cold he hasn't felt in years—hasn't _let _himself feel in years. "Where is he?" demanded Eliot in a low, dangerous, controlled voice, carved out of the same ice his heart had become.

The man's brows lifted in mock innocence, though sick amusement sparked in his eyes. "Who?"

Eliot's fists curled. A well of rage and fury rose within him, carefully held back by a wall of self-control. Like a wild animal tamed with chains, only to kill the moment they released. "Where. Is. He." Eliot ground out, the animal clawing at his chest, tearing at the chains.

"Oh," said the man carelessly. "Your little friend?" He leaned closer allowing his lips to twitch into a smug grin. "Somewhere at the bottom of the ocean by now."

Eliot felt himself still.

The pain stood paralyzed, the ice, the cold he never let himself feel completely freezing him from the inside, turning into something else completely.

They killed him.

_They killed him._

In that moment, Eliot felt something shift, deep inside him.

Something he worked very hard to leave alone.

It was a thin thread, very delicate, very small, buried very deep under his surface of careful control. Hard to reach, but easy—_so easy_—to sever. And he always kept himself from letting anything reach it.

But in this moment, he felt it.

The cold dug down deep, and found it.

And it _snapped_.

The animal within him, the _monster, _broke through its chains. Walls he put up to hold it back shattered. Its inhuman roar burst through Eliot's teeth, the _rage_ he was always careful to lock somewhere deep inside him was unleashed, viscous and wild, completely out of his control.

Eliot was only half-aware of his movements. He was lost in a haze of red. One second he was sitting in the chair, and the next he was on the ground, still half-restrained to the chair, and the man was groaning under him. One hand managed to break free from the rope restraints to the chair, and his fingers were wrapped around the man's throat. The man was choking, suffocating, clawing at Eliot's grip.

It wasn't until something smashed into the back of Eliot's head that Eliot was forced to let go. Light burst behind his eyes, the pain, so sharp, so sudden, so jarring that it tore him from the haze he was trapped in, from the monster inside that he had allowed to take over.

Like ice water, he was jolted out of the blur, pain _exploding_ in his head. Too stunned to react, he felt the chair lift and hit the wall, slamming his head against the concrete, hard enough to render his vision to blackness.

He eventually crawled his way back to the surface, his vision piecing back together and sounds filtering back in. Briefly he heard the sound of harsh, labored breaths enough to think angrily _the bastard isn't dead_ and Eliot cracked his eyes open, seeing the man sitting half-up against the wall, massaging a black-and-blue throat. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead and brow, blood streaming down his face.

Eliot felt something tighten on his arm and he jerked with a growl, but was unable to move an inch. Looking down, he was still in the chair, but restrained in at least ten more places, tighter than before, and with rope tied over his wrists more than once over in the same places. Another man stepped away from him, extra rope in his hand and a glare on his face. Eliot recognized this man, too; the broken nose and blood stains on his face. This was the second man who had ambushed them.

The adrenaline was fading fast, being replaced with the agony from before, but now he had _new_ agony. Even stillness hurt like hell. A wounded sound escaped his clenched teeth.

_Hardison was dead. _

Eliot shut his eyes, the thought of Hardison more painful than any of his injuries.

"_Hardison, put me the hell down! Get outta here!"_

"_No, Eliot! I told you! I won't—"_

"_This is my job."_

"_You don't leave your brother behind!"_

_Brother_…

Eliot felt something hot and wet trail down his cheek. He let it fall. Let it burn.

_No_.

Blackness took him, and he didn't fight it. He let it drag both him and the monster inside down with it.


	8. Chapter 8

Alec.

Hardison.

Was never.

Going outside.

_Again._

The words were breathless even inside his own head, and punctuated with each heavy footstep through the woods.

He had no idea how long he'd been running—and, he had to admit, it wasn't exactly _running_, as he'd only _run_for a solid sixty seconds before he had a near-asthma attack—_and he didn't even have asthma_—and has been half-walking, half-jogging, half-tripping over himself—_damn the math_—the entire way.

Hardison knew for certain that he would have given up ages ago—thrown _himself_ off the cliff a third time just to escape these damn mosquitoes—if he hadn't been so motivated to find Eliot. The image of Eliot on the ground from before—the unmasked _agony_ twisting his usually hard features…

Just remembering it now made Hardison pick up his pace.

He'd kept the water—at quite a distance away to be safe—to his right, just enough to use it as a guide.

But unlike the rest of him, his imagination hasn't tired out a bit, supplying a steady stream of scenarios detailing just what could happen to Eliot if he was too late.

Nate wouldn't get here in time.

Nate knew it.

Hardison knew it.

Hardison was Eliot's only chance and that just scared him even more.

Swatting another bug away, Hardison pushed himself to go even faster.

The sun was just starting to shift colors, signifying the change from afternoon to evening. Hardison still felt just as lost as ever, and was beginning to wonder if he might have missed where he'd fallen over the cliff the first time. What if he had? What if it was miles behind him? What if he couldn't recognize it? What if he was going to be lost here forever while Eliot was—

Hardison heaved out a breath, feeling panic well up so much he was getting dizzy.

But just as he opened his eyes, he saw it—

By the cliff up ahead lay a mess of rocks so out of place, that _had_ to be it.

"Yes!" Hardison couldn't help a grin. He burst through the trees into the small clearing, feeling a chill rush down his spine as he recalled dangling over the water, and he took a step away.

_Eliot lifted his head and took a sweep of the area. "We came down from the east," he muttered, pointing a finger where the ground inclined. "That only leads back to their base."_

Hardison turned.

He felt himself groan.

He had to go _uphill_.

"I. Hate. This. Job."

With a slight whimper at the prospect of pushing his already-burning muscles even more, Hardison started up the hill.

It wasn't as steep as he thought it would have been, but _damn_ was it a long way to the top. He didn't know how long it took him, but by the time the ground leveled out, he could no longer feel any of his limbs and his chest hurt from breathing, or maybe leftover pain from when his root-friend caught him mid-fall.

Either way, Hardison promptly collapsed in a heap on the level ground, giving himself a much-needed few seconds' rest.

_Eliot_.

Hardison opened his eyes.

He couldn't rest yet.

The sunlight was fading ever so slightly. So, if he had any chance of finding the tree stump with the hinge on the side, he needed to do it now.

Hardison picked himself off the ground and scanned his surroundings; just the same as the rest of the woodland.

_This is gonna take forever_.

But there had only been one tree stump around when he and Eliot had looked; this wasn't exactly the place for chopping down trees.

At least that could help narrow down the search.

Hardison started forward, scanning the forest floor carefully for the stump. Everything only looked more and more identical to the next, making his panic crawl back. _This is impossible_.

After twenty unsuccessful minutes, Hardison leaned against a tree, shutting his eyes, trying to keep the panic from rising. At this point he had _no idea_where he was, no idea where he came from, no idea why the hell this tree was so uncomfortable to lean on—

Hardison lifted himself from the trunk and truend to give the tree a piece of his mind when he froze.

Right where he'd been leaning was a sharp line of broken bark. And beside it, a _bullet_ embedded into the trunk.

Hardison's brows shot up.

This was the bullet that nearly killed him twenty-four hours ago.

Hardison grinned.

He was close.

Maybe luck _was_ on his side more than he thought.

Hardison dropped to his knees and started crawling on all fours, keeping the tree in sight to keep his bearings. He and Eliot were only a few feet away from the fake stump when the bad guys started shooting at them.

Hardison turned once more and—

_There_.

There it was.

It was half-hidden beneath a bush and so disguised into the color of the grass and trees he hardly noticed it.

How the hell _Eliot_ noticed it, Hardison had no idea.

Quickly, Hardison picked himself up and ran over to it. Sure enough, there was a brass hinge on the side. On the front of the "stump" was a barely noticeable handle.

Not exactly sure what to expect, Hardison held his breath and lifted it open.

It opened quietly, and Hardison had himself pulled back as if it was going to explode in his face. But it didn't, and instead revealed a hole in the ground the size of the stump. A dim light lit the tunnel, and a rusty metal ladder led down.

Hardison took a tentative breath.

If they had guns, he was walking into his own death.

But Eliot needed him.

And that was the only encouragement he needed.

Quietly, Hardison pressed his sneakers to the first few rungs and carefully started climbing down. His back _screamed_ as he bent to do so, and he held in a cry. He shook off what was probably a muscle strain and kept descending the ladder.

As he did, he looked behind him, to see a long, empty hallway. He was alone, at least.

Just as he reached the last rung, Hardison heard a voice from somewhere he couldn't see.

"Where the hell are you guys?" demanded an angry, muffled voice. It wasn't Eliot, and it also wasn't the man who shoved Hardison over the cliff. It sounded like a man having trouble breathing, or someone plugging their nose.

So, the man who received Hardison's nose job, then.

Another voice joined Nose Job and this time it came from a static-y radio: "Few miles out. Looking for the trespassers."

"We took care of them already," said Nose Job, and Hardison's heart froze over.

_Took care of them_.

_Both_ of them?

Did that mean… that Eliot…

_T__hat Eliot was_…?

But Nose Job continued before Hardison could even finish the thought: "One of them is dead, and we have the other here. But he nearly killed Barkley. Must've broken something cause he can't even get up."

Hardison let out a breath in relief. And a grin in pride.

_That's ma boy_.

"Don't know who the hell he is but he's crazy. Look, I need you back here," Nose Job went on. "It ain't worth keeping this guy alive. I'll kill him but I need you to dump him."

"Roger that."

The radio clicked and went silent.

Hardison stood, paralyzed.

_They're going to kill him._

He needed to get in there _now_.

Quickly Hardison scanned the hallway. He needed a weapon. A bunch of random supplies littered the ground and Hardison's gaze rested on one in particular.

That would do.

He picked it up and held it tightly, inching down the hallway. A doorway came into view and Hardison peeked inside.

On one wall sat the man who tried to kill Hardison-Barkley. He looked awful. He was making a horrible harsh sound with each breath, still breathing but not having a hell of a time doing it. He was half-crumpled to the ground and Hardison could tell right away he wasn't getting up any time soon.

Hardison moved his gaze, and froze.

_Eliot_.

Against the far wall was Eliot, heavily restrained to a chair.

He looked terrible.

His head was tilted down to his chest and Hardison could see his paleness from across the room. His broken leg was still splinted to the tree barn, laid out in front of him, the only part of him not tied with rope. Eliot was incredibly still. And if Hardison hadn't heard Nose Job confirm that Eliot was still alive, he would have thought he wasn't.

Movement caught Hardison's eye and he saw Nose Job, his back to Hardison. The man lifted a gun from the waistband of his jeans and aimed it at Eliot's still form.

_Now or never_.

Hardison charged into the room, and with as much force as he could muster, he slammed the thick length of wood into the back of Nose Job's head.

The man crumpled instantly, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Now _that's_ what a two-by-four is," said Hardison breathlessly, throwing the wood to the side. Before it even hit the ground he was rushing toward Eliot.

Eliot hadn't even flinched when Nose Job fell. But Hardison could see Eliot's chest move. He was breathing. Just seeing the proof lifted a fraction of the weight off Hardison's chest.

He shook Eliot's shoulder, hard. "Eliot!"

Nothing.

Hardison felt panic jump back into his chest.

"Eliot!" he shook again, harder, but Eliot's head just shifted, his eyes remaining closed. It was only then that Hardison noticed the thin stream of blood dripping into Eliot's shirt from somewhere on the back of his head. He'd been knocked out, hard.

And it took a hell of a lot to knock him out, period.

"Nonono," said Hardison breathlessly, shaking Eliot harder. "Come on, man! Wake up! You only sleep for two seconds a day, remember?"

Realizing that shaking the hitter was getting him nowhere, Hardison stopped, eyes falling to the rope around Eliot's wrists and ankle.

_There. Something he could do_.

After Hardison had splinted Eliot's leg, he'd given Eliot back his knife, sliding it back into the hitter's boot. Hardison found it once again, pulling the knife from the secret compartment—_damn terrifying secret compartment_—and began carefully cutting through Eliot's restraints.

Nose Job was still unconscious on the floor behind him and Barkley was still breathing brokenly, clearly in too much pain to pay Hardison any mind. If he was even still conscious at all. But still, Hardison wanted to get Eliot and himself out of there as fast as possible. Who knew when Nose Job would wake up, and the underground place was creepy as hell. Not to mention that there were reinforcements on their way already.

Precious minutes ticked by but Hardison finally cut through the last of the rope, and Eliot was free. Free, but still unconscious.

"_El—i—ot,_" said Hardison, punctuating each syllable of the hitter's name with another shake of Eliot's shoulder, but he was too far gone.

_Not surprisingly, after all things considered…_

Hardison leaned back on his heels, feeling panic tighten his chest. How the hell was he supposed to get Eliot to safety? It's not like he could…

He sighed.

That was the only option at this point.

Hardison turned a hard look to Eliot. "You're gonna make me carry your ass outta here, aren't you?"

Eliot didn't respond and Hardison felt heavy doubt sink into his skin. _This is sooo not gonna go well. _

And how the hell was he supposed to carry Eliot up the _ladder_?

Mind racing for a solution, Hardison dropped his gaze back to the rope on the ground, an idea forming.

It would have to do.

Hardison grabbed the longest string of rope and used it to tie Eliot's wrists together. He felt awful at the prospect of restraining his friend, but he couldn't think of any other way he was going to get him out of here.

Eliot's hands firmly tied together, Hardison turned around, putting the knife carefully between his teeth to free up both his hands. He grabbed Eliot's tied hands from behind and pulled them over his head and under one arm, almost like Hardison's across the torso backpack. The parallel was accurate, as both the backpack and Eliot saved his life in the past two days.

Carefully, using his knees, he stood, pulling Eliot carefully up with him.

Hardison stumbled forward, nearly falling. Eliot was a hell of a lot heavier now than he was yesterday, and Hardison briefly wondered why but _Eliot was awake then_ and with a surge of emotion Hardison realized that even through all of his pain, Eliot still must have held at least half of his own weight.

But now it was all on Hardison, and it forced him sideways into the wall. It took all of his strength just to stay standing. He held tight to Eliot's arms around him, one hand reaching up to take the knife from his teeth. "Okay," said Hardison in a strained voice. "I gotcha. I gotcha, man. We got this."

The wall certainly helped hold Eliot up. Hardison leaned both their weight against it, and used it to take a step forward. Encouraged, Hardison took a few more careful steps, his muscles straining to their limits and the hilt of the knife clutched in his hand just in case Nose Job decided to wake up.

It was slow going, but he finally made it to the doorway of the room. Eliot was still unconscious, and Hardison could feel himself sweating.

He turned into the hallway, using the wall for support the whole way to the ladder. Each step took a bit longer than the last and he could feel his strength waning.

But finally at the ladder, Hardison blearily looked up. Dim light from the evening sky met his gaze. Ten ladder rungs stood between them and safety.

_Well, safer than this._

Hardison breathed out.

_I can do this. _

He grabbed the first rung and stepped up onto the bottom one. He reached for the second rung with his other hand, feeling Eliot become heavier on his back, and Hardison gripped the ladder tighter, accidentally dropping the knife. It fell to the ground, much too far away to stop and pick up. He cursed under his breath, and kept climbing.

Three rungs in, and he felt Eliot's weight leave the floor, and become at least three times heavier. Hardison groaned, Eliot's weight aggravating where the backpack strap cut into him and nearly pulling him back to the ground. His muscles shook violently, and it took every effort not to let go of the ladder rungs. He was held in place, Eliot's weight too much to lift.

_I can't do this. _

Hardison was always the last picked for any sports team before he hacked his school schedule to get out of gym class altogether; he was no athlete. He lost arm wrestling contests with Parker _even using both hands_ against one of hers. And after the long-ass trek back here, and the walk down the hallway, his muscles were shot. _If he even had them to begin with_.

He couldn't _do_ this much longer.

"_I'm gonna switch arms."_

"_But—"_

"_If I don't," growled Eliot, "I _will _drop you, Hardison! I can't do this much longer."_

Hardison shut his eyes, remembering Eliot's words from yesterday. With broken ribs and a severely broken leg, Eliot had held Hardison's full weight—defying gravity_, _no less—with _one damned arm_. If Hardison thought _he_hurt right now, that was nowhere _near_what Eliot had been feeling, nor anywhere near what Eliot had pushed himself through to make sure Hardison would make it out okay.

Hardison opened his eyes. Pain be damned. Weakness be damned. He wasn't giving up on his friend.

Using every last ounce of strength he had, Hardison bent his knees and shifted his own weight down, trusting his lower body to do the lifting more than his upper. Slowly, as if moving through water Hardison climbed the next rung. It felt like slow motion, but it was progress, and it hurt like _hell_.

But he had Eliot now, and he was Eliot's only chance to get out of here alive. And more than that, Eliot _trusted_ him.

Hardison didn't take that trust lightly, and he wasn't letting Eliot down now. Hardison already let Eliot fall into their hands, already let them hurt him further.

He was _not_ letting him down again.

He _couldn't._

By the grace of god, Hardison made it to the top of the ladder, his muscles shaking even harder with strain. Not waiting to rest, Hardison climbed until his sneakers hit the top rung and he could heave himself out of the hole, pulling Eliot out with him.

They both hit the ground and Hardison fell to the ground, let himself rest, panting, everything—_ev-er-y-thing_—hurting more than he's ever hurt in his life.

But then, from over his shoulder, Eliot groaned.

* * *

He was on the ground.

The last thing Eliot remembered was the chair. _How did he get on the ground_?

Everything hurt. His head _killed_, and he briefly remembered something slamming into it not too long before he blacked out.

His body was the epitome of pain, but his leg certainly took the cake. _Took the cake_? That wasn't a metaphor he'd ever used before. Either the concussion was worse than he thought or he's been spending too much time with Hardiso—

The hacker's name broke through Eliot's muddled mind.

Memories crashed in, jolting him into the present with crystal clarity.

_Hardison._

A sharp twist of guilt and pain and fury tore at his chest. But at the same moment, he felt someone moving him.

He wasn't safe.

And Eliot being this angry, _neither were they_.

Eliot's eyes snapped open, and with a growl he tried to throw a punch, but realized a half a second later that his hands were tied together, and his arms were pulled around someone else.

_Even better then_.

The old-Eliot coursing through his veins like a drug, Eliot tightened his hold on the figure, feeling them stiffen as he readied himself to break their—

"_Eliot_—!"

Eliot froze.

He knew that voice.

But…

_It couldn't be. _

Almost disbelievingly, he choked out, "_Hardison_?"

"Y-Yeah, man," came the hacker's unmistakable voice, and Eliot felt relief rush through his body like cold water. "So please don't kill me or all of this was for nothing…"

Eliot released him at once and Hardison untangled himself from Eliot's arms. Eliot found himself looking up into the darkening sky, tree branches criss-crossing overhead. He tried to get himself up—_needed to see the proof_—but his ribs stabbed and burned and he fell back to the ground with another groan.

But he blinked his eyes back open to see a worried, dirt-covered, disheveled Hardison leaning over him.

_He's alive_.

Eliot stared at him in both relief and shock. He played back those last few moments, seeing Hardison shoved backward over that cliff, seeing him fall...

"How…?" asked Eliot, almost too stunned to speak.

Hardison looked confused for a second. "How what?"

Eliot swallowed. "Saw you... go over."

Understanding flooded Hardison's eyes. "Oh. _Oh_. Wait," His face creased. "You thought I was…?" The look on Eliot's face said more than words could, and Hardison looked just a little heartbroken. "Oh! No, no—I—I'm fine, I… let's just say I was damned lucky and owe both you and a branch my kidneys."

Eliot's face screwed up a little, trying to follow that train of thought but his headache intensified and he shut his eyes, just grasping onto the fact that _Hardison isn't dead_.

"Hey, Eliot… nu-uh, it ain't bedtime yet, man, open your eyes..."

Eliot did, finding Hardison again, looking just as panicked as his voice sounded. Eliot found his voice again. "Where are we?"

"Not half as far away as we should be," said Hardison, urgency entering his tone "Those assholes have buddies on their way right now, so we gotta leave _now_."

Eliot's mind sharpened at that. "What?"

"We gotta get _outta here_!" repeated Hardison with more force, and he pulled himself to his knees, stumbling a bit over himself. Eliot could _feel_ the hacker's exhaustion radiate from him. But it didn't stop him, and before Eliot could blink, pain lit up everywhere and Eliot groaned through his teeth. Hardison was trying to lift him up.

"_Stop_," whispered Eliot breathlessly.

Hardison did, and Eliot clenched his teeth, pain throbbing horribly _everywhere_. He forced open his eyes to see Hardison's face only deepen in worry. "Dammit," said Hardison half-heartedly. "This mighta been better if you were still unconscious, man…"

_Still…? _Either Hardison was making less sense than usual, or his concussion was more severe than he thought. Eliot blinked, gears turning slowly. His gaze found the branches outlined in the night sky—

_Wait a second_…

"How'd I get here?" asked Eliot suddenly. The last thing he remembered was the chair.

_Hardison couldn't have_…

"The same way you're getting outta here," said Hardison definitively. He sighed heavily. "I know it's gonna hurt, man, but I gotta lift you up."

Despite the situation, Eliot was floored. "You… _carried_ me?" asked Eliot in disbelief.

"Piggy-back ride of the ages," said Hardison dismissively. "Okay, clearly you got some marbles loose. We. Gotta. _Go_."

Eliot was just trying to fathom _what sort of danger Hardison had walked himself into_ to get Eliot out of there, when pain ignited once again, and Eliot growled through his teeth. This time, both he _and_ Hardison felt the pain. Hardison was shaking hard; Eliot's weight was too much for him.

"Hardison!" growled Eliot, pain nearly whiting-out his vision. "Stop! Jesus, _stop_—"

It hurt. _It hurt so damned much._

Hardison stopped, because of Eliot's words or his own limits, Eliot didn't know. But regardless, Hardison didn't release his hold. "I know it hurts, man, I'm sorry," said Hardison thickly, and it really sounded like he was. But Eliot heard the exhaustion in his voice. At this point, Hardison could barely gather the strength to stand up and get _himself_ out of here, let alone them both. "Just a little more, man, and then we can—"

"I appreciate it, Hardison," said Eliot breathlessly, the movement having made his head hurt a million times over. "But helpin' me's gonna slow ya down." He swallowed hard. "I already lost you once, Alec. I can't do it again. Jus' leave me—"

"I swear to god," said Hardison in such a harsh voice that it made Eliot open his eyes, "that if you're about to tell me to leave you here _one more time_ I'mma knock you back out and _drag your ass_outta here by _any means necessary_! It's either both of us or none of us! I. Will. Not. _Leave. You. Here. _Ya got that?"

The force of Hardison's words cut sharper than most of the pain, and shocked Eliot into silence. Anyone who spoke to Eliot Spencer like that usually didn't live long enough to hear his response. The hacker was as stubborn as he was, and clearly wasn't about to change his mind. Hardison stared him down, and Eliot held his gaze, trying to understand how on _earth_ anyone could care about him to this extent. Hardison had the deepest heart he'd ever seen, and Eliot didn't deserve a damn bit of it.

Hardison must have taken Eliot's silence for agreement because, with care, Hardison slipped Eliot's arms over his torso and Eliot let him, keeping his teeth ground to keep himself from screaming.

Eliot couldn't help the disjointed sounds that escaped his clenched teeth as Hardison stood, and he knew that each one made Hardison hesitate in their journey upright. _Slowing him down_. Eliot clamped his mouth shut, using his good leg as an attempt to help the hacker, but it was futile at best. His body was shot. His head spun as Hardison lifted him and Eliot simply tried not to pass out.

From there, he felt Hardison's muscles tighten and he took a step, carrying them both forward a few inches. Each step was punctuated with heavy, broken breaths from them both.

"_There they are!"_

Hardison froze and Eliot's blood ran cold, snapping his eyes back open.

"Shit," breathed Hardison, and he took faster steps, each exacerbating Eliot's pain more, but Hardison couldn't take both their weight at that speed; it overtook him and he fell. Both of them crashed to the ground, and pain _erupted_ in Eliot's leg, and he cried out.

"_Eliot_!" came Hardison's voice. Something was shaking him _and not helping the damn pain_ and Eliot forced his eyes open. Hardison was leaning over him, raw fear in his eyes. "Eliot, they're coming! Wh-what do we do? What do I _do_?"

But footsteps announced the arrival of the "buddies" Hardison had mentioned from before. Before Eliot could process it, more pain ignited in his bones, and he blearily felt Hardison drag him backward, and his back was pressed against a tree. Eliot's vision pieced back together, and he watched as Hardison moved carefully in front of him.

Eliot blinked.

Hardison was _shielding_ him.

_Protecting_ him.

_Him_.

Eliot couldn't put the mix of incredulity and shock that swept down his spine at that gesture into words.

More footsteps sounded on every side of them. At this point, Eliot could make out the figures approaching them through the trees. _Four. Five. Six. _

_Too many._

One man stopped a few feet before Hardison, a gun in his hand.

Eliot could feel Hardison shaking.

Eliot grabbed Hardison's arm with his tied hands. He pulled Hardison away from the man, closer to himself. Eliot's torso was a pit of fire at this point, and he couldn't get up. Eliot couldn't switch places with Hardison, no matter how much he wanted to.

Hardison fought him a little, but Eliot pulled Hardison firmly next to him.

_He will not die protecting me_.

Eliot's tired eyes darted for an escape route, at least for Hardison. But the six men closed in, effectively trapping them.

Hardison was shaking harder, and Eliot turned, seeing a tear track through the mud on his face. Hardison caught his gaze, and they shared a look. There was something... _finite_ about it.

Something that filled Eliot with a kind of cold dread he rarely ever felt.

Eliot tightened his hold on Hardison's arm, and looked at the man standing before them. And Eliot Spencer—the retrieval specialist, the assassin, the _nightmare_—did something he's rarely ever done in his life.

He begged.

"Please," said Eliot heavily. "Not him."

It was clear in this man's eyes that he didn't have the capability for compassion, for decency, for mercy. Eliot recognized that look, and used to see it in the mirror. Nothing would change that mind.

The man raised the gun.

"I'm sorry, Eliot," whispered Hardison. "I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry, I—"

"Don't be," said Eliot in a voice that hurt to get out. He looked at Hardison, wanting to say something, one last thing, to make this okay. But nothing would. No words could convey just how sorry _he_ was. Just how much it tore him apart to know that Hardison was only here because of him. That Hardison was only going to die because Eliot let it happen. That Eliot failed him, and it was something he would never forgive himself for.

The man pulled back the hammer on his gun, and Eliot tightened his grip on Hardison, and Hardison tightened his just the same.

Eliot shut his eyes, feeling a burning behind them.

_I'm sorry, Hardison.  
_

"_Freeze!_"

Eliot's eyes snapped open.

The voice came from somewhere behind the circle of men, and each one of the bastards jerked around.

"Boston PD, _put your weapon down_!"

The man with the gun whipped around, startled as the beams of flashlights cut through the dim forest and at least a dozen sets of footsteps pounded toward them.

_Boston PD._

_Cops._

Several officers had their own weapons drawn and neutralized the men one by one.

Eliot heaved out a breath, shutting his eyes briefly as the relief coursed through his system.

_They were safe_.

They were finally _safe_.

One very specific Boston PD officer approached the man in front of Eliot.

"I _said_," Patrick Bonano told the man in a firm, authoritative voice, "_put your weapon down_."

The man did, reluctantly, and Bonano took it and cuffed him behind his back. "You know, _Officer_ Davis, I think this _might_ take your badge." He nodded his head to the other men. "Probably all of your badges. I dunno. What do you think?" When the man—_Officer Davis—_only muttered something unintelligible, Bonano said, "At least all those dismissed cases make sense now. All of you should be ashamed of yourselves." Bonano shoved him toward another officer. "Get them out of here."

_Officer_. Eliot nodded to himself tiredly. The pieces fit themselves together. _Dirty cops_. Made sense.

"Eliot," came Hardison's voice over his shoulder. "We're gonna be okay! Thank the damn lord, we're—Eliot?"

Somehow, Eliot's eyes had closed of their own accord, and he was too tired to try to fight it. Sounds faded, like Eliot was sinking through water. Relief took a different course for him, and he felt his body give in, and he let it.

Hardison was safe.

He could rest.

Eliot let go of his shaky grasp on reality. Hardison was safe and sound, and Eliot felt a smile tilt his lips, satisfying himself with that.

Then Eliot finally, _blissfully_, passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter left to go!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Thank you all soo much for reading this story, it means so much to share it with you guys :) thanks very much for the favorites, follows and especially to those who've shared their thoughts and feedback, it always makes my day, thank you so so much!
> 
> This is the last chapter of the story, and it took me a reallllly long time to get the way I wanted it lol, I hope you guys like it :) I have several other multi-chaptered leverage stories in the works and can't wait to start posting them!
> 
> Until next time~
> 
> ~cosette141

Eliot was okay.

That was all Hardison was hanging onto. All he _could_ hang onto at the moment. Every other part of him was either in pain or still freaking out, but _Eliot was okay_ and that was enough for him.

The hours after their rescue were a blur in his exhausted eyes. The paramedics checked Hardison over when they reached him and Eliot in the forest. Hardison had a few broken ribs, and a rainbow of bruises. Everything hurt, breathing hurt, existing hurt, but he'd deal with that later.

Every cop and paramedic that had contact with him and Eliot had sucked in a breath at the sight of Eliot's leg. It had still been tied to the splint Hardison made, but was clearly situated wrong in more than one place. For Hardison, he'd almost gotten used to seeing Eliot's leg so messed up, but the collective reactions from the rest made his worry sharpen.

It was only when they were strapping Eliot to the backboard that they questioned his tied hands. Bonano muttered some choice words about the dirty cops and Hardison felt a bit of guilt at his own handiwork and chose not to correct their assumptions.

Hardison was grateful that Eliot was unconscious during their journey to the hospital. Even with all the careful handling of his leg, Hardison knew Eliot would have been miles past agony if he'd been awake for it.

Hardison didn't allow himself to sleep. Not when the paramedics arrived at the forest, nor while he rode with Eliot in the ambulance to the nearest Boston hospital, where the doctors had said that Eliot's leg would need minor surgery to set the bones back in place. However, he didn't stop a nurse who approached him with a clean towel, water and antiseptic, wanting to clean his face to treat a few cuts on his cheek.

When the team arrived, they looked almost as shaken as he felt. Hardison wasn't exactly surprised; the note he and Nate left off on during their phone conversation offered little hope. Nate was even paler than he usually was inside a hospital, but looked more than relieved to see Hardison alive and awake, sitting in a waiting room chair. Sophie crushed him in a hug that hurt, Nate embraced him more mindfully of his injuries and Parker sat as close to him as possible as they waited together for Eliot to get out of surgery. That closeness at first bloomed a warmth in his chest, feeling the girl he's been crazy about so close to him. But the warmth quickly cooled after the thirtieth time she'd poked him where it hurt. He knew her strange ritual was endearing in her own way, but Hardison now fully understood why Eliot kept his distance from her after a physically taxing job.

As they waited, Hardison gave them the briefest summary of what happened. Nate only lost color as Hardison's tale went on. The whole team did. It had been a close call.

_Too close._

He and Eliot barely made it out of that mess alive, and that quarter of a mile still haunted him.

After what felt like a few hours, a doctor returned to say that Eliot was a _lucky man_ and the breaks were clean enough that they were able to set the bones back in place, and they'd heal over time. A lot of time, but they'd heal nonetheless.

And for that, Hardison was beyond grateful.

Hardison had been offered a bed of his own, a room for himself, ice, ibuprofen, and at least a few dozen other things that he turned down except for a few bottles of water. Eliot had been right about orange soda not quite cutting it. He was absolutely spent, beyond exhausted—it must have been well into the early hours of the morning by now—but Hardison hadn't wanted to rest until he was completely, one hundred percent sure that Eliot was fine.

And he knew with an absolute certainty that Eliot would do the same for him.

Not long after given the good news, they were escorted to Eliot's room.

Eliot was still unconscious, though now from medication and not from his own physical limits. He looked a bit better than he did a few hours ago. His leg was in a proper cast now, one that encased his entire leg, up to his hip. It splinted two breaks in his thigh and one in his shin. The doctors had rested his leg on a few pillows and a pulley to keep it elevated. Cuts and scrapes littered his face and arms, as they did Hardison's as well.

As he watched Eliot breathe, the only real proof that he was alright, Hardison felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You saved him, Hardison," said Nate quietly. "Rest."

It was only then that Hardison finally allowed himself to pass out in a chair beside his bed.

Hardison must have been asleep for a while, because when he was jerked awake, the room was no longer dark, and bright daylight filtered in through the blinds of the room. Somewhere Hardison realized it was a high-pitched beeping sound somewhere by his head that jerked him awake.

He woke so abruptly he almost fell out of the chair but he righted himself, cringing as his pain woke up as well. Hardison blinked a few times at the bright room and realized it was Eliot's heart monitor that was beeping.

Eliot was waking up.

A quick sweep of the room told him that the whole team was here too; Parker curled up in a chair next to Sophie, and Nate in a chair by the door, holding a cup of coffee that he probably wished was stronger.

The beeping made them all jump a bit, and Hardison watched Eliot's face screw up into a grimace.

"Eliot?" asked Sophie tentatively.

"Sparky!" added Parker.

Eliot opened his eyes, squinting at the bright lights. And considering his concussion, Hardison winced along with him in sympathy.

The hitter took careful stock of where he was, and Hardison briefly wondered how many times Eliot had woken that way. Eliot then scanned the faces around him, from Nate to Parker to Sophie, then landed on Hardison. Eliot visibly relaxed when he saw him.

Hardison gave him a tired grin.

Eliot didn't return the grin, but the relief in his eyes was enough of a reciprocation for Hardison. Almost as if remembering something, Eliot's gaze fell to his heavily-casted leg. Eliot's gaze lingered on his leg, and Hardison could practically see the gears turning in his head.

"You ain't walkin' for six weeks, at least," Hardison answered his unasked question. "And doc says you gotta take it easy for the next few months."

"That means," added Nate in his mastermind tone of voice, "no jobs for a while."

To all of their surprise, Eliot didn't argue. He simply nodded, as there really _wasn't_ a way out of this one. Though he still looked slightly frustrated with it.

"Consider it this way," said Nate a little more gently, sensing what looked like guilt from the hitter, "you and Hardison single handedly took out a ring of eight dirty cops, and saved that photographer, who was released yesterday with a clean bill of health. Consider it eight clients. We can take a break for a while."

Silence descended a little, and Nate looked between Hardison and Eliot, taking some sort of unspoken cue to say, "Sophie, Parker… let's grab lunch." He looked back at Eliot and Hardison. "Neither of you have eaten in, what? Days?"

Just the reminder made Hardison's stomach pang and growl loudly.

"That answers that," said Nate. He headed to the door with Sophie, adding, "Parker…" when the thief had one finger out hovering over Eliot, looked very much like she was in a poking mood, and Eliot was giving her a death glare.

"All right," she said, pouting, and followed them out.

When the door closed, Eliot looked at Hardison. A lot happened in that look, hidden behind guarded eyes. A calculation. But the steel his emotions usually hid behind was worn, just enough to crack, showing a mix of emotions that settled on relief. "Are you okay?" asked Eliot.

"Well, everything hurts and now I know why ya complain so much about breaking your ribs." said Hardison, resting an arm gently over the stinging pain in his midsection. "But I'm okay otherwise. Might need therapy, but I'm okay."

Silence fell, and Eliot's eyes faded a bit. The hitter wrestled with something in his head, then finally said, "How are you still...?" he swallowed, unable to finish the phrase. "I saw you… go over. How…?" He still couldn't quite finish, and left the words hanging.

Hardison heard the words he didn't say. Louder than he'd like to have. "I don't even know, man," said Hardison, shaking his head in his own disbelief. "It was crazy. This branch on the side of the cliff snagged my backpack. My _expensive _backpack, that's now somewhere at the bottom of the ocean," he added, a little sadly. He looked up at Eliot. "It caught me. Kept me from… well, y'know." He sat back in the chair. "Not somethin' I ever wanna experience again. Though Parker wants to try it next week." He shook his head to himself.

Eliot's brows shot up. Hardison was taken aback slightly; he could count on one hand the amount of times he saw Eliot Spencer surprised. "A _branch_?" he echoed in disbelief. "But… then how did you…?"

Hardison swallowed, not wanting to remember just how panicked he'd been hanging over the ocean. _For the second time. _He cleared his throat. "I, y'know… climbed."

Eliot's brows nearly reached his hairline. "You scaled a _cliff_?"

Hardison forced a grin. "You know me. Not just another pretty face."

If Hardison wasn't mistaken, Eliot actually looked _impressed_. You know, underneath the horror at the thought of Hardison freely scaling a cliff.

Eliot pulled enough words together to say, "I'm damn glad you did." His eyes held another emotion, a deeper one. He was more than _glad_, and Hardison could feel it.

"Didn't really have a choice," said Hardison quietly. "You were in trouble. I had to find you."

Eliot looked at him, the surprise shifting into a completely _different_ kind of surprise, an emotion in his eyes that Hardison could only describe as _touched_. Eliot stewed in a loss for words for a moment, and briefly shut his eyes. When they opened, his eyes were clouded once again, a new wall constructed to hide what lay beneath. "You shouldn't have come after me."

Hardison blinked. "What?"

Eliot let out a breath, the wall getting thicker and stronger by the second. "You shouldn't have come after me," he repeated. "Hardison, they—they almost killed you." The words hit Hardison heavily, flashing him back to that moment, falling over the edge…

Hardison shook himself. "Yeah, but—"

Eliot's eyes hardened. "No buts, Hardison. You shouldn't have come." He shut his eyes, opening them again, something soft shining through a crack. "I appreciate what you did. You don't…" He stopped himself, swallowing down an emotion. "You don't know how much I appreciate what you did. If you hadn't come back… I wouldn't be here right now." He heaved out a controlled breath. "But you need to promise me you'll never do something like that again."

Hardison gave him the are-you-crazy look that he usually reserved for Parker. "Eliot, you just said it yourself! You couldn't've gotten outta there on your own!" said Hardison firmly. "You needed me! I don't know why you're—"

"Because I can't lose you, Hardison!" exploded Eliot, growling the words like they had to ripped from him, somewhere deep inside his chest. Eliot's eyes opened, a murderous fury behind them.

But it wasn't directed at _Hardison_.

"I was two inches away from you," said Eliot, tearing the words from within, "and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop them from killing you." His eyes raised to Hardison's, the look in them nearly chilling Hardison's blood to the bone. "You came back for me, and they almost killed you for it." Eliot let out a breath, his voice almost desperate. "I need you to promise me you'll never do that again, Hardison. _Promise _me."

The heaviness of Eliot's gaze pinned Hardison to the chair. But his mind was made up. "I'm not going to promise that, Eliot," he said simply. "I can't."

Eliot's gaze shifted into a glare, one that would terrify anyone outside of the members of their team. "Hardison, I'm not kidding! You need to—"  
"Well FYI, _Eliot_," Hardison shot back, "I'm not the only one they tried to kill! I told you that night that I was gonna have your back as best I could and I meant it!"

"It's not your job to protect me, Hardison!" said Eliot firmly. "It's mine to protect _you_." He closed his eyes for a brief moment, the words raw and hard to reach. "When I saw you…" He couldn't get the words out, and he blinked his eyes open, and Hardison could have sworn he saw tears in them. It stunned him to the core. "I thought you were dead." The look in Eliot's eyes was pure, _raw_ pain. His features twitched, like he was trying to patch holes in an overflowing dam.

_I thought you were dead._

Hardison hadn't even thought about what Eliot must have seen.

"_Hardison_—!"

The same raw pain—raw _agony_—in his eyes now was in Eliot's voice the moment Hardison was pushed over the edge.

Eliot had seen him fall.

"_How are you still...?"_

He'd thought Hardison was dead.

Not _almost_ dead.

_Dead_.

"Alec, I _lost _you." said Eliot quietly, broken. His eyes lifted to Hardison's, his walls shattered and gone. "I can't…" Eliot's face had lost its mask, and suddenly he was just a regular, human, breakable man, trying to hold it together.

Hardison blinked, heaviness settling into his chest. Eliot had thought he'd been dead. Even the thought of _Eliot_ being gone… Hardison's chest seized with the prospect of grief and fury and pain.

Eliot had felt that.

_I thought you were dead._

Hardison couldn't speak.

Eliot shut his eyes, and the mask slipped unsteadily back over. "I held you back. I let them catch us. I let them kill you." The fury with himself was back, self-loathing sharpening his words. "I should have been there."

Hardison snapped out of his stupor. "But you're _always_ there!" exclaimed Hardison. "Eliot, you've saved my life a thousand times and… and the _one time_ you needed _me_…" Hardison hesitated, his own self-loathing sinking its teeth, "I blew it." Hardison felt the guilt sink deeper. "I should have been there for _you_." His voice was hollow when he said, "Do you know how far away we were from making it out of that damn forest?" he said, eyes burning. "_A quarter of a mile_. We were a _quarter of a damn mile_ away from getting outta that hell." The tense silence was back, and Hardison felt the guilt like a claw around his heart. "If I wasn't so damn weak I coulda taken those guys out and gotten you and me out of there and—"

"Hardison," said Eliot, cutting him off. "I already told you, it's not your job to—"

"Forget about jobs!" exclaimed Hardison, shooting off the chair so fast it shoved it backward. His beaten body complained loudly but he ignored it. "Just forget about jobs already! You are my best friend, and I'm not gonna let them kill my best friend! Damn whose job it is!"

The words _best friend _seemed to catch Eliot by surprise, but he shook it off. "Hardison, look. You were lucky. You were lucky as all hell that you managed to snag on a branch. You were damn lucky you made it out of that alive. But I—"

"Lucky? You think I was just _lucky_?" repeated Hardison. "You wanna know what saved me from the second cliff dive?" asked Hardison heatedly. "It wasn't _luck_. It was _you_!" Hardison's chest heaved, emotion bursting at the surface. "Yeah, some branch thing caught the strap of my backpack, and my backpack kept me from falling to my death, but I was freaking out." His voice shook, the same panic rushing through his veins. He lifted his gaze, strong and hard, boring it into Eliot's. "I was panicking the _hell_ out. And the only thing that kept me from losin' my mind was _your_ voice in my head." The words fell heavily. Hardison felt his eyes burn hotter and a tear burned a line down his cheek. "Sure, luck caught me. Fine. But _you_ saved me."

Eliot was silent, speechless.

"You think that us caring about you is some sorta liability or something," said Hardison, his voice giving into a hurt. "But ya know what? Knowin' that you needed me is what got me up that cliff. I don't think anything else in the whole damn world would have gotten me out of there alive." Silence fell once again, both of them absorbing it, accepting it.

"Eliot," said Hardison, sitting back down in the chair. "Losing one of us doesn't just hurt you. Losing you…" Hardison felt his chest tighten, reminded of how close they came to that happening. "It would kill me. It would kill all of us. And if you want to keep thinking about whose job it has to be to keep us alive, then fine. But just know that if you die, so do we. So, protecting you when you're in trouble… well, you have to let us." He looked cautiously up, surprised to find Eliot listening. Hardison shrugged. "It stopped being about jobs a long time ago, Eliot."

Hardison fell silent. They both let the moment hang, let it linger.

Finally, Eliot said quietly, "It was easier when it was just a job." He breathed out. It was an admittance. A vulnerability. A release. A losing war inside him that he finally gave into. It was his own honesty, the only adversary that gave him pause. "It was easier when you were just a hacker," he said in a voice that lacked growl, that lacked strength. It was Eliot himself, walls down, eyes clear. "It was easier when Parker was just a thief, when Sophie was just a grifter, and Nate was just a pain in the ass." His eyes found Hardison. "It was easier when you weren't my best friend."

Hardison felt those two words hit straight, deep into his chest. He felt his eyes burn a little again, though this time from an entirely different emotion. He couldn't help a grin slipping across his face.

"Yeah," said Hardison. "It was easier," he agreed. "But it wasn't better."

Living their lives alone _had_ been easier. Less to worry about, less to consider. Less to lose. But up until meeting the team, Hardison didn't _have_ anything to lose. He didn't want to go back to that. No matter how much easier, no matter how much less terrifying it was.

Eliot didn't respond, but he didn't argue, and by the look in his eyes, Hardison knew he agreed. However reluctantly.

"So," said Hardison tentatively. "From now on, you'll let me help you? You'll let _us _help you? You won't be all job-this and job-that? We'll be all Simper Fly?"

"I don't even think you know what that means anymore."

"But you'll let us?" prompted Hardison.

Eliot let out a breath, like he felt like he would regret it. But finally he relented, "If you let me teach ya how to fight. _Properly_."

Hardison's grin grew. "Aw, _hell_ yes! What's the first lesson? Sweep the leg? Ooh-ooh, breaking a rock in half?" He snapped his fingers. "_Wait_!" He held his hands up. "Wax on, wax off?" He made the motions in the air.

Eliot rubbed his temples and sighed, like he regretted many things, but he couldn't quite hide the amused grin that played at the corners of his lips.


End file.
